Pirate Ages
by Tsuki the Wolf
Summary: Captain Arthur Kirkland wishes only to reach the New World and to see his America again. But a strange man appears through the use of magic who not only causes Arthur's typical life to change, but to change his view of the future in the process. UKUSUK
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This is the start of my new Pirate story. :D I've always loved Captain Kirkland and now I'm writing one for him. This is, of course, USUKUS. Yes. Both. There will be both. Because honestly I don't think Captain Kirkland just takes it. He would fight to top. England as his normal self would, though.  
Ignore my bad attempts at pirate talk.**

**Review! I want feedback AND ideas! I'd love some ideas for what happens on the ship!**

* * *

It was a fair day on the seas of the Atlantic as Captain Kirkland stood at the wheel of his ship. His crew either ran about doing their jobs or slacking in the late day sun. Kirkland looked out over the glittering waters and gazed at the sun with a smirk that was somewhere between happy and taunting. Yet another day upon the seas had gone by while on the _Bloody Mary_, Captain Kirkland's beautiful ship. In his hand he rolled a light blue sapphire –one that he held onto for luck. It had a circumference of about eleven centimeters and was roughly the shape of a heart. Captain Kirkland brought the jewel to his lips and kissed if softly with glee in the back of his throat threatening to bubble out in chuckles as they always did when he thought a bit about his jewel. It was a… "gift" from a certain Spaniard.

"Ahoy, captain." A voice taunted in greeting from behind Captain Kirkland. The captain scowled and pocketed his jewel stealthily within the carefully hidden pocket of his coat. He didn't want many to know of his treasure for fear they would steal it. He trusted his crew with his life, but he wouldn't put it past the dogs to steal from him –especially as beautiful a jewel as the heart sapphire was.

"You had better hope you have come to tell me supper is ready or I'll murder ye for fouling up my air." Captain Kirkland growled, not turning to his intruder on his day.

He felt hands slither around his waist and a body press close to him. "Fouling, you say, well-" He didn't finish as the captain spun around to knock the hands away and in the same move pull his flintlock to point in his assaulter's face. The blonde man held up his hands in a slightly mocking surrender. "Now, now, _cheri_, no need to point."

"Keep your filthy hands off of me, Francis." Kirkland growled.

"Arthur, you wound me. I can't give my friend a hug?"

"I'm _not_ your friend, frog."

Francis dropped his hands. "You're right, of course, on that one fact." He shrugged and walked to join the captain at the railing of the ship to gaze out upon the ocean. "We 'ate each other."

Arthur put his weapon away. "Of course. Now why are you here?"

Francis sighed. "I've been in the kitchen or in my quarters all day. Can I not have a little bit of fresh air?"

Arthur scoffed. "You're my prisoner. I don't have to treat you fairly at all."

"So cruel! What 'appened to that little boy that looked like a caterpillar?"

Arthur scowled and bit back the heat rising to his cheeks. "That was a long time ago. I am not that child anymore!"

"Really now, England, you should relax once in a while. You'll develop wrinkles if you keep frowning like that."

"Don't call me that around the crew. You know that, France." Arthur's eyes narrowed. Francis shrugged and turned to leave.

"Your dinner is in your quarters, my captain." He gave a flick of his wrist and left.

"Why didn't you tell me earlier, bastard?" Arthur growled under his breath and walked down the stairs to the main deck before entering his quarters. It was a large and ordinary room for one such as the captain. The windows held red curtains with gold trim with a matching bed. A large table upon which to chart courses was in the middle of the room. Off to the right were a closet and the left held Arthur's personal table that held his food for the evening. A chest of treasure and a second chest of books were by his bed. Arthur breathed a sigh of relief and closed his door before removing his coat and hanging it on his bedpost. He was starving.

* * *

It was late at night –perhaps midnight or so. The moon floated high in the sky and Arthur contemplated going to sleep. He sat reading a map and making sure they were on the right course as he drank some rum. He didn't feel like becoming drunk but he was thirsty and so he sipped. His head was buzzed, but it was nothing that would affect him.

Arthur felt a chill run up his spine and he spun around swiftly. He looked around but saw nobody. He frowned feeling the fine hairs throughout his body standing up. There was something strange in the air but he couldn't see anything out of place. And his bedroom was thoroughly locked. Still frowning he approached his bed and stripped off his belt, vest, and pants to deposit them in a bin. He was getting ready to remove his shirt when there was an electric charge –like one would feel when lightning strikes nearby- and Arthur watched as a bright flash enveloped the room. In that instance he dove towards his gun that sat nearby and aimed as a figure's outline became apparent through the light.

The light faded to expose a man –barely, if his age was anything to go by- wearing strange clothing. His trousers were made of a blue material Arthur had never seen before and his shirt was red, loose, and covered his torso to a little below his neck and over his shoulders was a brown jacket with black –wool?- material around the collar. On his wheat-field coloured hair he wore a strange black cap with a bill only in the front of it and had the letters 'U', 'S', and 'A' printed on the front of it. Arthur was confused by this man –who was on his hands and knees and appearing startled as Arthur pointed his gun directly in the man's face.

"Who are ye and how did ye get in here?" He demanded angrily. No doubt this was a type of magic.

The man fell onto his back and away from the barrel shouting, "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Don't shoot me, dude!" He blinked sky blue eyes at him through eyeglasses. He opened his mouth to speak when Arthur slammed his foot onto the man's chest and forced him to the ground pointing his flintlock straight between the man's eyes.

"Speak, boy! Who are you?" He growled, not accepting anything but an answer and conveying it with his eyes.

"A-Alfred F. Jones!" He had a strange accent that Arthur had never heard before. He didn't look Asian but he didn't appear to be quite European –especially with those clothes.

"How did you get onto my ship, dog? Tell me before I blow your brain outside of your skull!"

"It was an accident, I swear!" Alfred cried. "Put the gun down!"

Arthur stepped off of Alfred and commanded, "Get up! Now!" Alfred scrambled to his feet, still holding his hands up. Arthur stepped forward and flipped through the intruder's clothing checking for weapons. He made small notes in his mind as he patted the man down. _Well-muscled, although there's some fat, handsome, tight arse, well-built._ He found a strange item of leather and opened it. Inside he found what he could tell was paper currency but not from any country he knew of. He tossed it.

"Hey! I need that!" Alfred complained. Arthur shoved his gun underneath the man's chin.

"I think you're not in the position to complain." He told him but he pulled back. He found no weapon of any sort. "Now tell me how you got here."

"Okay, I was just trying to go to my friend's house when somehow I was transported here! Magic, I think!" Alfred looked baffled but not so much scared anymore. Arthur contemplated before lowering his gun but stayed on guard.

"Magic is a tricky thing…" He murmured. Alfred dropped his hands. "Where are you from?"

"Um…" Arthur's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "I don't remember." Alfred gave a disarming grin that effectively did just that to the captain. He felt that the stranger was familiar somehow. Nevertheless he knew that the familiar stranger was lying. He wasn't dazed or disoriented at all. Arthur promised himself to get the truth out of him.

"I should throw you into the Atlantic, but if this is indeed a product of magic, I'll let you go…for now." He put away the weapon to see if Alfred would react. Alfred did nothing but pick up what appeared to be a rucksack and walk over to a chair with a sigh. Arthur scowled. "Get out of my chair! Ye're not staying here!" He walked to the door and unlocked it.

"What!" Alfred asked, shocked.

Arthur threw open his door. "Men!" A pair of pirates rushed forward and into the room. Arthur pointed at Alfred. "To the brig with ye!"

"What! No!" Alfred jumped up as the two men rushed him and slammed him to the ground. The teen struggled against them and appeared to be winning until his hands were tied with rope. "Let me go! I didn't do anything wrong!"

"Ye're on my ship, dog, so you'll spend the night in the brig."

"Aw come on, Artie! Don't do this! You asshole!" It was the final word he got in before he was dragged from the room. Arthur closed his door and wondered who this 'Artie' was.

"Could he have been saying my name?" He murmured as he lay down in his bed. But how?

* * *

The next morning Arthur was awoken by his cook bursting into his room with the captain's breakfast. Arthur's eyes were open instantly upon the intrusion and he scowled as he was forced from his good dream. Already the threads of the dream eluded his grasp. He couldn't recall what his dream was about.

"What did I tell you about coming into my quarters unannounced, frog?" He growled.

"Here I am!" Francis said. "I'm announcing myself! Get your beautiful self out of bed and eat my exquisite food!"

"Go the bloody fuck away." Arthur said and climbed out of bed to go over to his breakfast.

Francis sat down across from him, much to his displeasure. "So you seem to have captured someone in the middle of the night."

Arthur paused in his meal. He had thought that the stranger had shown up on his ship early in the morning may have been a fantasy. But according to Francis he was real. "Oh? And how did you discover this?"

Francis frowned, annoyed which pleased Arthur. "Not only because he was screaming through the night but also because I had to feed him –to which he also moaned about."

"I see." Arthur finished his small breakfast –they were running out of supplies and would have to stop at the next marked island under British control- and stood up to go pull on his pants and long coat. "I suppose I'll go see him, then."

"Whip him if you have to. If I get woken up again I'll kill the kid myself." Francis sniffed. "I need my beauty sleep."

Arthur ignored him. "Clean up my food and get back to work, frog."

"Yes, my lord." Francis bowed mockingly and did as he was told. Arthur thought about whipping the French man but he left for the brig instead. His room was on the main deck and travelled under the upper deck where the ship's wheel was and on the opposite side of the ship were the stairs that led down to the crew's quarters, kitchen, and brig. The _Bloody Mary_ was a fine vessel and was the best made ship in the British fleet (and really it shouldn't be a pirate ship, but it cried out for the adventure of the sea).

Arthur walked past various members of the crew until he arrived at the brig. He spotted some trash in another cell and ignored that man as he approached Alfred. Alfred was frowning looking generally like he currently hated his life. It was a look very familiar to Arthur.

"Enjoying yourself, dog?" Alfred's head shot up at Arthur's voice and he jumped to his feet, but he was chained down.

"Why the hell am I in here? I didn't do anything bad! I'm just someone who accidentally showed up because of To –magic and now I'm in this hellhole! It freaking stinks in here, dude! Let me out!" Alfred yelled.

"My Lord, you're loud. Bloody hell." Arthur was disgusted with how talkative he was.

"Well maybe if you let me out, I'll shut up!"

"You'll close your mouth whether or not I release you."

"Bullshit! Don't be an ass!"

Arthur twirled the keys to the brig around his finger mockingly. As annoying as Alfred was, he amused Arthur. He was fascinated by Alfred's curious accent (actually it was quite arousing) and his mannerisms were completely unique. "Let us partake in a wager, then."

Alfred quieted. "What kind of wager?"

"Ye'll answer to me and I'll release you."

"Your questions?"

"Indeed."

"Deal!" Alfred held out his hand and Arthur shook it.

"First question, then." Arthur leaned against the bars. Alfred gazed back at him through his spectacles. "Where are you really from? And don't say you don't remember because I know you're lying." He added as he unlocked the cell and opened the door.

Alfred closed his mouth, about to have said just that, and then said, "I'm from Africa." Arthur instantly had his scabbard out and at Alfred's neck the next second, scowling.

"You lie." He hissed. "Your skin is dark but tis merely the colour of a worker and not a negro. Do not lie to me again or your neck will be spewing your blood, dog!"

Alfred swallowed and gazed defiantly back at Arthur. His courage impressed the captain but his stupidity didn't allow Arthur to treat him kindly. "Fine, I'm from America."

Arthur froze. "The New World?"

"Yeah."

"Your accent is nothing like any European country's I've heard."

"I moved West and I guess I developed this way of talking." Arthur wanted to deny it, but he sensed no lie in his words. "Can you put that thing away? I don't like my neck being threatened."

Arthur scoffed but lowered his weapon. "If you're from the West, what country are you loyal to?" He didn't need any Spanish on his ship.

"I'm loyal to my own country." Alfred stated. "If you want more I can tell you I don't hate the English, French, Spanish or any of them. I'm not here to start a war."

Arthur barked a laugh. "So ye be a nationalist! How amusing!"

Alfred grinned too. "So you'll release me, then?"

"Nay. Unless you answer to my next question."

"Shoot, then!" Arthur was puzzled by the figure of speech but ignored it.

"Ye mentioned the name 'Artie'. Were ye referring to me?"

Alfred hesitated this time. "Um…" Arthur pointed his sword at his throat. "Alright, alright! Don't stab me! I'd heard of a pirate and I knew the name was Art or Artie or something! That's not it?"

Arthur stepped back and with a flourish of his sword he put it away. "That's Captain Arthur Kirkland to you, dog." He unlocked Alfred and said, "Ye'll call me Captain or Captain Kirkland."

"Yeah, yeah." Alfred muttered, rubbing his wrist. Arthur grabbed the boy's collar and yanked him so that they were face-to-face, smirking.

"And ye'll be working as my cabin boy."

"WHAT?"


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hi there! Tsuki here! I'm back with another chapter of this! Once again I would like to apologize for any foreign language errors and I won't mind if I get corrected for them and I will go back to change them!**

* * *

Arthur was unappreciative of Alfred's efforts. The newest part of the crew complained. All of the time. It infuriated Arthur. Alfred was given commands to clean the deck and he complained of the smell and how his knees hurt. He was told to throw out the scraps of food and he said it was disgusting. He muttered about how he hated these kinds of chores because they reminded him of his childhood. Well, Arthur wasn't impressed. Two days of this was enough to wear on his patience.

He stepped through the crew's quarters quickly and opened Alfred's door. The boy was slicking back his hair and bangs with a little bit of grease. He appeared to be trying desperately to keep a single strand down that kept popping back up. Arthur felt that that strand made Alfred seem even more familiar, but he couldn't quite place why. He also was slightly disappointed that Alfred would slick his hair back. He looked much better the way it normally was, in Arthur's opinion.

Alfred growled at the strand as he finally got it to stay down and commanded it aloud to 'stay' before turning to Arthur. "Yeah Artie?"

Arthur frowned at him. "My name is 'Arthur and ye'll address me as 'Captain', dog."

"Well then you'll address me as 'Alfred' then, Artie. Cuz that's my name, not 'dog'."

Arthur scowled now, not liking this insubordination. "I will call you whatever I like!"

"Then same goes for me!" Alfred replied cheerfully. Arthur pulled out his sword and stabbed it into the wood right next to Alfred's face and leaned down to get into his face, angry.

"You will call me 'Captain' or face the consequences." He hissed, his green eyes flashing angrily. Had he had said this to anybody but Alfred, they would've been cowering. Many a man had wet himself at the glare of Captain Arthur Kirkland. He was as terrifying as he was beautiful and dangerous. Nobody dared to cross him unless they were a nation. And then Kirkland put them in their places: under his boot where they belonged or on their knees sucking him off to show just how low they were. To him they were just disgusting whores.

But this _was_ Alfred F. Jones that we were talking about and he wasn't the type to back down. He gazed back into Captain Kirkland's eyes defiantly and looked like he was trying to control himself (somehow it didn't seem to be anger. Arthur didn't notice any actual anger in those blue depths) before he said in a calm and normal tone, "What consequences?"

"You are coming dangerously close to a whipping, boy." Arthur felt his anger dissipating and he tried desperately to hang onto it. Where was it going and why? Why did he find it difficult to be angry at those eyes? Was it possible because this American had America's eyes? Surely that demonstrated that he truly was American.

This time Alfred's eyes did flash with anger and alarm. "Whip? You'd actually whip me?" He seemed more surprised than he should've been. Did this boy really not know that people were whipped on ships –specifically the _Bloody Mary_ at that?

"I would." Arthur kept his steely tone but the words felt hollow to him.

Alfred still didn't back down, though. "Just call me Alfred and I'll call you Captain. It's not that difficult."

"I'll call you by your given name when you earn it. Until then you are just a dog."

"Then I guess you'll have to put up with me not calling you Captain." Arthur was furious again and he clenched his jaw and fists before storming out of the room. Francis was nearby and kept pace with him, which didn't improve the Captain's mood at all.

"You're just going to let him command you like that? My my my, _Angleterre_ you have grown soft!" France mocked, grinning.

"Shut up, frog!" Arthur hissed at him.

"Oh? And why should I _Artie?_" Arthur grabbed Francis's collar and slammed him against the wall, glaring death at him. That name on Francis's lips felt disgusting; vile and sickening. It didn't belong there. Why was it that Alfred could say it and he felt better all of a sudden, then?

"Do _not_ call me that again." He whispered harshly, barely able to keep his breathing under control. He was sickened by Francis's scent. How he was able to smell this way even out at sea for months was a mystery. "Now listen to me here, frog, I want you to get my men and drag that boy's arse out onto the deck."

Francis –Arthur could tell- was frightened by Captain Kirkland. It brought Arthur great pleasure to see his fear. However the man didn't show it on his face. "Are you going to beat him, then?"

"He needs a lesson. Thirty lashes should do it." He dropped France and turned. "You have until I retrieve my whip to have him ready." He walked off.

"Yes, my Captain." Francis murmured before he went in the opposite direction.

Arthur was beside himself with anger now. He felt self-righteous. He needed to put Alfred in his place. He thought that he wouldn't whip him? He would prove him wrong. He went into his room and acquired his whip from his cabinet and studied the slightly worn leather. This would cause damage, he was sure. With that thought he left his room to find the sight of Alfred struggling against five men who were tying him to the main mast. His shirt was ripped off in the process to expose his back to Captain Kirkland. Arthur took a moment to appreciate what his hands had told him on the first day with his eyes. Alfred was well built for a nineteen year old. No doubt he had done work around a farm or something.

Arthur shook himself of his thoughts. He had a duty to fulfill. He approached Alfred from behind as his crew stood waiting in a circle around the scene. They were being respectful to their crewmate at least for this one moment. Each one of these men on the ship knew what it was like to be at the end of the weapon in Arthur's hand. They would stay silent and would not turn away for the sake of their own prides. Even Francis stood silent to watch the scene.

Alfred looked behind him the best he could to see the Captain. "Hey! What the hell are you planning?" He demanded. Arthur saw a flash of fear go through his blue eyes. His stomach twisted painfully at the sight. He didn't want to do this, he realized. He didn't want to whip Alfred. Those eyes were –despite the age that didn't seem to belong there- innocent in a way. Alfred had never felt the sting of a whip against his back. His lack of scars proved that. But Arthur did notice a scar on his lower back –a small one that looked like a round burn. He wondered what it was before clearing his head again.

"I had warned ye, dog. Ye're not supposed to disobey your captain. You're lucky I don't skin you and drop ye into the ocean to burn and be eaten by the sharks. So now, you'll be punished." He cracked his whip loudly.

Alfred's eyes widened and more fear entered then at the sound. "What! No! Don't do that!"

Captain Kirkland scowled, disgusted. "Don't snivel, brat. Take it like a man. Where's your pride, boy? Can't handle a little pain?"

Alfred's eyes darkened and hardened at the words as he glared defiantly the best he could at Arthur from his awkward position and shut his mouth. His eyes clearly said, "Get on with it, then." Arthur felt a little respect for the man. Perhaps there was hope for him yet. That thought of fondness for the boy brought back the aversion to whipping him. But he wasn't going to stop now. He couldn't look weak in front of his crew. Weakness meant death on the open sea. And even though he was a nation, he didn't want to have to swim to shore (which was many, many miles away) or be attacked by ocean dwellers.

He took a deep breath. "For repeated disobedience against me, you will receive thirty lashings. Be happy I don't kill you." With that said he lashed him for the first hit. Alfred cried out and clenched his fists and jaw shut directly afterwards. Captain Kirkland gave him a moment to absorb the pain before he continued with the rest of the lashings. Alfred refused to yell at the last twenty-nine of them. He kept his face stubborn and his eyes closed with tears leaking from them. But he didn't voice his pain anymore.

When the captain finished his whipping, Alfred's back was torn to shreds and blood soaked his tan skin and the pants he wore. The captain was handed a rag with which he cleaned his whip of Alfred's blood before he turned away. "Ye had better've learnt your lesson, dog." He said before he parted the circle of men and walked through them.

As he passed Francis he heard the man whisper, "_Touché, _Captain. Well met." Arthur scowled and slammed the door to his quarters. Francis always knew exactly what to say to make him feel worse.

* * *

Arthur didn't understand his own feelings as he lay in his bed the next morning before the sun had even risen. He was delaying his rising to check on the crew. Francis would probably burst into his room again. He felt that Alfred had deserved the whipping. He had constantly disobeyed Arthur and on top of that he whined about everything that he had done. He had been tired of it. Alfred had deserved the whipping. And yet Arthur felt _guilty_ about it. He didn't understand why. He had never felt guilty for whipping a deserving crewmate. It was what they deserved. So why did he feel guilty about whipping this stranger who was a mere cabin boy? Was it because he favoured Alfred a little? No, he had favoured quite a bit of his crew –more so than Alfred, that was for sure- but that didn't cause him to feel guilty. Was it because Alfred wasn't technically part of his crew and was just someone who had accidentally found his way onto the ship? Arthur doubted that as well. Alfred was technically enlisted into his crew, even if it was temporary. On any ship you still had to obey your captain.

Arthur let out his breath and climbed out of his bed. This was getting him nowhere. He couldn't decipher his own emotions, which frustrated him. He needed to check on Alfred. He knew that he needed to just to help ease the guilt a bit. But he needed to do it in a way that didn't make it seem like he was checking up on him in a concerned manner. He would pretend that he was making sure Alfred would be back working within the next day or so despite his wounds. He dressed and exited his room to go to the crew's quarters. He could smell that Francis was making his breakfast. Good. He had better be up.

If Alfred actually managed to go back to his duties within the day without complaining even with his wounds, Arthur knew that his respect for the boy would grow dearly. But he doubted that he would be. Thirty lashes were a lot for a man to take and work with –especially one whose back is not used to such treatment. It made Arthur feel slightly guiltier at the thought.

He entered the crew's quarters and passed the kitchen where Francis was chopping some kind of food, scowling in disgust at it and muttering in French. Arthur knew enough to know he was complaining about the quality of the supplies. They were going. There was an English port nearby. Arthur knew that he needed to stop the ship by there and resupply. The wind was hardly going for the ship today anyhow. He continued past the crew members who were up and working and found Alfred's cabin. He peeked in and saw it empty. He was surprised and grabbed one of his men to stop him.

"Where is the cabin boy?" He demanded, pointing to Alfred's empty room.

The man grinned at him. "He's up on deck, Cap'n."

"What?" Arthur was surprised. When had this occurred? "What for?"

"He's work'n, Cap'n." Arthur left the man after that and went back up onto the deck. He glanced around for Alfred and saw the boy on the upper deck on his hands and knees. His back was crudely wrapped with cloth that had blood soaked through on various bits. His face was white with pain and exhaustion and sweat formed on it. He was cleaning the deck by hand, Arthur saw, and with each movement he made his bandages became darker.

Arthur stared at him, shocked and amazed. Even though he was in pain, Alfred's eyes were bright and vibrant with pride and defiance. He refused to let his wounds stop him from working. But Arthur knew that to be healthy the boy needed to rest a bit. He was going to kill himself that way. Arthur turned and went back down to the kitchens where he slammed his fist against the wall, startling Francis into nicking himself with his knife.

"_Sacredieu! _What is it that you want?" Francis demanded, angry as he sucked on the finger that he injured.

"I want you to go up on the deck and tell that _twit_ to return to his cabin immediately." Arthur commanded.

"Which one?" Francis replied drily. Arthur scowled.

"The one who was whipped! That dog!"

"You mean _nos petits _Alfred?"

"Yes, him. Speak English, frog."

Francis ignored him. "He is up on the deck?" He was just as surprised as Arthur had been. Arthur nodded.

"I want you to tell him to go and lie down. His wounds will never heal if he keeps moving. And he is losing a lot of blood. Make sure you redress his wounds."

Francis nodded and left to go up to the deck. Arthur followed him and walked over to the wheel of the ship, checking his map to make sure they were on course and talking to a few of the men. He kept an eye on Francis as he stopped Alfred and talked to him. The two chatted. From what Arthur could see, Alfred still appeared defiant. Francis turned to Arthur and shrugged. _He won't listen to me._

Arthur frowned and decided to take matters into his own hands. He crossed the deck to where the two were standing. "What the devil do ye think you're doing?" Arthur demanded of Alfred. The boy stopped and turned to face him.

"Cleaning the deck. That's part of my job, isn't it?"

"Yes but you're adding more blood to the deck and dirtying it more than you're managing to clean." Alfred looked behind him and saw some red on the ground. His pants were soaked with it. His bandages were now completely dark with blood. He would catch his death at that rate.

"Oh, I guess I am. Oops."

"Go with the frog to change your bandages and go lay down. You need to heal more before you can do anything." Arthur commanded.

"But I'm following orders." Alfred protested.

"Your orders are to recover some before you do anything, you twit." Arthur frowned at him, annoyed. "Now go."

Alfred stood up with protesting legs. He looked like he barely had the strength to stand. Nonetheless Alfred saluted. "Yes, Captain." He said and turned to stumble away. Francis was quickly after him and caught his arm to throw over his shoulders to help support him. Alfred gave him a small grin in thanks and the two went off. Arthur watched them go before his lips twitched a little. He felt that he could come to like Alfred. He just needed to learn.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry if Artie seemed a little mean on Alfred with whipping him and everything. But you know. Captain Kirkland = No Mercy**

**Review~~~**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I fail at action scenes….OTL I wish I was a better writer at this kind of stuff.**

* * *

They pulled into the port within the day and spent the evening there to resupply and to rest. Arthur's men were celebrating at a pub drinking all of the rum they had there. Arthur smirked and was about to join them when he noticed that Alfred had not shown up there. He frowned, wondering what could've become the lad. He contemplated just ignoring it, but his suspicions caught the better of him. He still didn't trust Alfred. He didn't know if it was truly magic that he came here with or some other means, but he felt that he was hiding something. And Arthur always trusted his instincts when it came to people. So he went off in search.

It didn't take Arthur long to find Alfred down by the ship on the shore staring out into the ocean. He was quiet, thinking of something. Arthur studied him. In the moonlight Alfred's still slightly bloody bandages looked black. His figure glowed surreally in the light of the moon reflecting off of the waves. His spectacles were off making him seem more his age, Arthur realized. He fought with himself about going down there but finally he did.

Alfred slipped on his glasses as he heard the footsteps and looked over his shoulder to see Arthur. He saluted. "'Evening, Captain." He stated with a smile. Arthur didn't understand how Alfred didn't resent him for the lashes he had received the day before. Anybody else would have been furious for at least a couple of days before getting over it. Unless they knew that they deserved it and Arthur felt like Alfred wasn't the type to own up to those types of things.

"What are you doing down here and not at the pub?" Arthur questioned.

Alfred shrugged. "Dunno. Not really the type to drink all that much." Arthur wondered what he drank if it wasn't rum. Alfred looked up at the sky. "Besides, I'd miss this view." Arthur looked towards the heavens as well. The black-blue sky was scattered with stars spotting it everywhere. Arthur recognized the constellations presented to him. But he didn't see anything extraordinary about the sight. It was just a typical night sky out on the seas. He pointed it out to Alfred. Alfred laughed. "Yeah, maybe, but where I come from you can hardly see the stars anymore…it's been a long time since I've seen this kind of sight."

Arthur looked at him, suspicious again. In all places that Arthur had travelled to one could always see the stars. Even in America. But then again, there were vast parts of America unexplored. "What part of America are you from again?"

Alfred just smiled and continued to stare upwards. "I've been all over the place. I've lived all over." He looked at Arthur, something shining in the depths of his blue eyes. "But if you wanna be specific, I guess you could say I was born in New England."

"Is that so? Wouldn't that make you loyal to the British Empire?"

"I told'ja," he looked across the sea now. The stars touched the ocean horizon there. Arthur recalled that he had once thought that the Old World was all there was to the Earth. In the direction they were looking America stood. It would take practically another month to get there, however, "I'm loyal to America."

"Hm." He studied Alfred. The boy was so peculiar. He didn't understand why he talked that way. There was no land to be loyal to. Arthur owned America. And Alfred was loyal to America. So Alfred had to be loyal to him (the British Empire). And yet Alfred refused to say that he was. It caused Arthur's head to spin with confusion.

Alfred stretched and winced as his healing wounds were pulled. "Anyway, I'm gonna go get some sleep. My back is killing me."

Arthur frowned. "It was what you deserved. I had warned you."

"Whatever." He turned and left. Arthur hadn't dismissed him, but he let him leave refusing to let the guilt build in him again as Alfred headed towards the town. Arthur decided to go join his crew.

* * *

Within the next five days Alfred seemed more than ready to work and went back to his duties without Arthur telling him to. Arthur spent that time not interacting with the boy and instead focused on his normal routine on the ship. He often fought with Francis still, but found himself watching Alfred's movements. The boy was getting along nicely with the crew. It was as if being whipped was a type of initiation. Alfred seemed to have a personality that attracted all of the crew to him and he seemed to get along with everyone. Even the meanest one of the crew –even by Arthur's opinion- John seemed to tolerate Alfred. Arthur had spotted Alfred chatting with John on more than one occasion.

It wasn't just Arthur watching Alfred, though. Arthur had found Alfred watching him as well. It seemed as if the boy wanted to talk to him, but he never did. He didn't interact with Arthur any more than Arthur tried to interact with him. Arthur didn't understand why that bothered him so much.

Often times Alfred finished his work generally early and tended to slack off, but there were times when instead of slacking off he would follow some of the men and learn more about the _Bloody Mary_. He learnt the ship's riggings and how the cannons worked and where the supplies were held and where the some of the treasure was hidden in case anybody got on their ship. Arthur was watching one such occasion of Alfred racing one of the men up the riggings to the crow's nest when Francis came up to him.

"He is making many friends, no? He fits in well." He commented.

"Indeed." Arthur said watching as Alfred failed to beat the man and seemed to challenge him again. Arthur thought about telling them to get back to work but there was nothing to do at the moment that wasn't already being taken care of.

"England, do you perhaps feel that there is something…off about him?" France asked suddenly, looking at him seriously. England gazed back at him stoically.

"So I am not the only one who noticed. Yes, he seems strange."

"He says he is from America?"

"Specifically New England and that he is loyal to America."

"Why, then, does he not give off the feel?" When it came to the countries themselves, they could always tell where a human was from. They had a type of aura about them that allowed the countries to understand where they were born. And England had noticed immediately that although Alfred said that he was from New England that Arthur didn't feel like he was in Alfred at all. Alfred did not have the feel of any country he really knew all that much.

"I do not know."

"Perhaps he is a new country?" France said in a low voice as another crewmate passed by.

"Impossible." England shook his head. "Look how grown he is. That large of a country would not go unnoticed by any of us. Besides, he speaks English –even though it _is_ a strange form of it. He would've had to learn that from my people. And he doesn't exactly seem familiar to me."

Francis raised an eyebrow at him. "What you say implies that you do recognize him a bit."

Arthur hated the few times Francis was perceptive. He sighed. "Yes, he seems a tad familiar, but I cannot place him."

"_Oui_, he does look familiar…Finnish perhaps?" Francis studied Alfred. Arthur joined him. Alfred had managed to win this time and stood jumping up and down at the top of the mast, celebrating. The men were laughing at him. He was such a child.

"Hm…No, I don't believe so…though he _does_ have that look about him a bit." Arthur brushed off the conversation as he felt a change in his bones. The wind was blowing roughly towards him from behind. The sails hungrily ate up the wind, driving the ship faster. It was as if the ship was suddenly running towards something. He pulled out his spy glass and looked around with it before his eyes landed on a ship. The flag waved it was a Spanish ship no doubt coming back from America. It was a merchant ship. Arthur felt a grin spread across his face. He could tell he and his crew had wanted some entertainment and _Mary_ had seemed to reciprocate it. The ship had noticed the merchant ship first.

"What is it?" Francis asked, although he had already recognized the signs.

"Get below deck, France, before I tie ye up." Arthur warned. He didn't like Francis being above deck when a battle started against the Spanish. He never knew when Francis was going to use the chance to turn against him and help the Spanish. However he felt that Francis wouldn't this time. It was a small ship. It could never win against Arthur's crew. But it was better to be safe.

"Yes, Captain." Francis rolled his eyes and went below deck.

Arthur's eyes glittered with sinful glee as he slammed his boot onto the railing and called to his crew, "Men! We've acquired us some fun! Ready the cannons!" A roar went up among the men and they began to scramble to get weapons. Alfred finally climbed down from the riggings and ran up to Arthur.

"What's going on?" He asked.

Arthur pushed him out of the way to go to retrieve his scabbard and flintlocks to load them onto his being. "We're going to steal some 'supplies'." He stated and tossed a sword to Alfred. "Ye can use one, correct?"

"I'm better with guns than swords but…wait, we're going to steal?" Alfred looked surprised. Arthur couldn't help his smirk.

"I'm a pirate, remember?" He once again pushed past Alfred to back to the upper deck to steer the ship. The Spanish merchant ship was getting close now. It seemed to be trying to turn to find a current since the wind was against it. "Raise the flag!" Captain Kirkland commanded.

"Aye aye!" The men called back and Arthur watched as his flag was presented. He pulled out his heart sapphire and kissed it lightly before pocketing it again. Finally there would be fun.

They waited until they were fairly close to the ship before gunfire began to erupt around him. The other ship knew who they were. Good. His own crew fired cannons back, taking out a chunk in the other ship. "H-hey, we don't need to do this, Capt!" Alfred said, coming up beside him. Arthur's heart was pounding with excitement, the grin from his face never fading. This is what he lived for. This was the break he received from his stuffy life on land. He loved the sea. There was nothing more thrilling than the fear of death at every possible second to him.

"You're not scared, are ye dog?" Captain Kirkland demanded.

"Of course not! It's just not necessary!" Alfred objected.

"Perhaps not, but it's fun." Kirkland stepped up onto the railing of the ship and cried, "Prepare to be boarded, filth!" as the _Bloody Mary_ came in close to her target. He could hear the sorrows of the men would were about to lose their lives. And it caused him great joy. He wondered in passing if one of his crew would die, but ignored it. If they did, then they did. There would no doubt be injuries. He, along with a number of his other men, jumped onto the merchant ship pulling out his sword along the way to immediately clash it with another upon landing. He dodged below a swing and sliced his enemy across the chest, becoming sprayed with blood in the process and sending the man to the ground with one kick, killing him as he fell into the ocean. Captain Kirkland then turned and ran through the crowd, coming into various fights with others. He shot some men while holding off others with his sword. This was child's play to him. Centuries of living gave him a great advantage over these people. But even so he was caught with some wounds. He turned to block another attack when he heard his name cried out,

"Arthur!" Arthur turned towards the call only to be tackled by a force and sprayed with blood. He opened his eyes to see Alfred hovering over him as the man he just shot in the head fell to the ground, thoroughly killed. Alfred grinned at him. "That was close!"

"What the devil do you think you're doing?" Arthur shoved Alfred off of him and took up his sword to stab another person as Alfred rolled away from the slash of a sword.

"You were almost shot in the head! I saved you!" Arthur was surprised. Was that so? He didn't even know that there was someone behind him at the moment.

"So you _do_ have hair down there." Arthur stated, twirling around Alfred to shoot someone in the back.

"Ouch, that's harsh dude!" Alfred said, moving to duck under an attack and punch someone in the stomach, sending him onto the lower deck. Apparently he had lost his sword at some point. "But then again I wasn't the one who was almost killed."

"Hardly." Arthur felt amused. This was fun, he realized, this banter with Alfred. Even in the middle of a fight they fought with each other verbally.

"Uh-huh!" Alfred called. "Hey, look out!" Arthur stumbled, having almost fallen off of the edge of the ship where the railing had broken off but Alfred caught his hand and pulled him close. Arthur saw that there was blood splatter across the boy's face but still he smiled. But it wasn't the sadistic smile that Arthur carried. It was the one he always wore –a happy one. Arthur questioned how he could smile like that in this situation. "AH!" Alfred fell to his knee as he was shot in the calf. Arthur's eyes widened and he growled, furious, and sent a bullet right back at Alfred's attacker, killing the already-close-to-death man.

The fight ended. The crew of the opposing ship had been cut down to half. The rest had surrendered. Arthur lowered Alfred down and Alfred was already pulling off his shirt to cut off his own bleeding, cursing about the pain. Captain Kirkland stood and left him to go to the captured crew. "Take anything of importance! And most of their food!" Arthur told his men. "Leave the rest for them."

"Y-You're sparing us?" One of the Spanish men spoke in broken English. Captain Kirkland smirked.

"Hardly."

* * *

When they had finished gathering what they had wanted there was barely anything left for the other crew. Scraps, perhaps. If they were lucky they could survive if they found a port. But it was unlikely. Arthur didn't care, however. They could do whatever. Arthur found out that one of his men had died during the battle and there were numerous injuries, but nothing too serious. It wouldn't be difficult to take care of with the medical supplies they had found on the merchant ship. There were plenty of gold as well as food products. Francis was ecstatic to have some more fresh-ish food.

Arthur walked over to Alfred as the boy sat at the edge of the ship gazing out across the ocean. He couldn't walk very well with his injury. He was once again out of commission for now. "I still think what you did was wrong." He looked up at his captain. "We didn't need to do that."

"You're right, we didn't need to. But it was for entertainment." The captain shrugged.

"People died."

"And that's how the story goes." Alfred huffed, annoyed. "You willingly joined in, though." Arthur pointed out to him.

"Because you were about to be killed, is all." He responded casually. Arthur refused to allow any heat rise to his cheeks. He felt a little flattered. "But I don't agree that pillaging is fun."

"Come off it." Arthur waved his hand to brush the conversation away. "Anyhow, ye have survived your first battle as a part of my crew."

"Yeah, and? It's not the first battle I've been in." Arthur wondered what other battles he had been in.

"Indians?" He questioned. Alfred let out a bark of a laugh.

"That's partially it!" He admitted grinning amused at whatever his thought was.

"Hmph, well I suppose you have shown you're not completely useless." Arthur stated. He thought he heard Alfred mutter something along the lines of "tsundere", whatever that was. He must've heard him incorrectly. "…Good job, Alfred." He turned and left then and missed Alfred's surprised look before the boy smiled.

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**A/N: So this story will move a little bit fast because I have other ideas of what will happen in America and then some more stuff. Angst, y'know? Also…hint hint, there'll be sexy times in the next chapter~ Expect this story to move fast.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Sorry for the lack of updates recently. Summer started for me and I haven't had a moment to myself. Also, I haven't had the inspiration. And don't worry; I'm not quitting any of these stories or anything, if you're wondering. If I don't update for a while it's because I haven't thought of how to write it or I'm busy. TT_TT Sorry if it seems a little rushed or crappy. I literally made this up on the spot.  
**

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Arthur Kirkland was growing how one would say…frustrated. It wasn't that things weren't going his way –oh no, they most certainly were- it's just that life out at sea for a man is not very easy at all. Especially when there was fresh meat aboard the ship. And he wasn't talking about the meat Francis cooked. He was talking about a one Alfred F. Jones.

Arthur found his eyes straying to the fit young lad as he went about his daily duties. He had been, in a sense, upgraded from his cabin boy job to become more of a regular crew member. But not by Arthur's choice. He had the other crewmates helping him clean and in return he helped with their duties. In the end Alfred was just another one of the crew now. He had been fully accepted. But upon the acceptance the flirting had started up. It had been a little over two weeks since they were last on shore and the men were becoming rambunctious and Alfred was the perfect target of their lust. He was young in body, mind, and spirit and was a tasty treat for any man who wanted a virgin.

At least to Arthur's eyes Alfred was a virgin. He seemed far too innocent not to be, what with not getting the jokes that the men made which were obvious flirts. But the flirts were becoming a nuisance to Arthur as he noticed his own lust for the boy. Arthur wouldn't deny that he was bored with his usual fucks on the crew. Alfred was new and Arthur was attracted to him. Very attracted to him. And that caused him to become possessive. Nobody but him would get Alfred in bed.

The particular day Arthur decided he would seduce Alfred the boy was being ganged up upon. Alfred was dressed in clean wear from the crew with a grey-white short-sleeved shirt with a v-neck that had ties lacing across the V's gap. His pants were tight and brown along with the boots most of the crew had. Nonetheless Alfred's hair for once wasn't slicked back (which did not help Arthur's slight reluctance to go through with capturing Alfred) and was beneath the strange cap that he had worn when he had first appeared on the ship. Arthur watched as the men approached him, the ring leader of it closer to him than the others.

"Come, Alfred!" The man said. "Let me show ye me land down under in me hammock!"

Alfred looked completely confused. "What?" The men closed in on him and Alfred backed up. "H-hey, what'cha guys doing? You're not trying to start a fight, right?"

"Not here, we're not!" One of the other men said. Arthur leaned on the railing wondering how Alfred hadn't already figured out what they wanted. It was obvious by the looks in their eyes. His body burned with fury.

"So what, you want a fight?" Alfred had misinterpreted them. Arthur decided to come to Alfred's "rescue" and jumped down from the upper deck to land between the group and Alfred.

"That is enough. Go back to ye jobs, you swine. Put yourselves away before I hang ye!" His arm was outstretched to the side to shield Alfred more, thoroughly claiming silently "He's mine, now back off." The crew grumbled at the hidden meaning and moved away reluctantly. Captain Kirkland scowled at their pace and they hurried off.

"Hey, thanks Captain!" Alfred grinned as Arthur turned to face him. "I didn't want to have to fight them!"

"Come with me." He grabbed Alfred's hand –a sign of possessiveness for the rest of the crew to see that he had claimed Alfred as his prize- and led him into the captain's quarter's before shutting the door and locking it up. Before Alfred could ask what he's doing, Arthur commanded, "Take off ye boots and sit on the bed." Alfred looked baffled but did as he was asked, trusting the captain. Arthur smirked with his back turned to Alfred, removing his jacket and hanging it up and removing his own boots. Alfred was a trusting boy. He would regret trusting Arthur. But he would enjoy his time either way, Arthur was sure.

"So what am I doing in here?" Alfred asked as Arthur approached the other side of the bed and crawled over to where Alfred was.

"You are quite the slow one, Alfred." He led Alfred to lie down on the bed and towered over him. Alfred's face turned pink and Arthur smirked. So the boy could understand actions. "They wanted to fuck you, not fight you."

"Seriously? I h-had no idea!" Alfred stuttered as Arthur began running his hand over and down Alfred's chest. "What are you doing?" He cried and tried to sit up but Arthur pushed him back down and leaned into his hair, his breath already a little rough as he whispered in his voice that he used to seduce people,

"They're not the only ones who want to fuck you, Alfred. And because I am king, I consent to this." He nipped on Alfred's ear lobe and ran his tongue around the shell and began to move down the boy's neck. Arthur felt Alfred shiver beneath his lips and ministrations. Arthur bit and licked and sucked on various parts of Alfred's neck, claiming him for his own as his thumbs rubbed circles on the boy's nipples. For a time Alfred didn't respond except to grip the back of Arthur's shirt and pull him a little closer, his body betraying him. Arthur knew Alfred was already his and was a little surprised by it. It meant that Alfred had already liked him. Arthur scoffed internally. Of course Alfred did.

But then Alfred gasped, seemingly realizing what was happening, and said, "N-no, Artie!" And pushed him up. Arthur sat up so that he was straddling Alfred's hips. Alfred looked delicious with the red marks forming along his bright pink neck and his face a matching shade. The boy's eyes were shadowed as he huffed. It was apparent that he was barely maintaining control of himself. Arthur felt that Alfred truly was a virgin. And he liked that, wanting to take it from him.

Arthur leaned back down into his face. "Are you denying me, dog?" He whispered threateningly even though his eyes were lowered and he smiled seductively. He saw Alfred's breath hitch and felt from under his bum –which was conveniently placed over Alfred's crotch- Alfred harden a little. His hand brushed over Alfred's cheek and he gripped the back of Alfred's head. "Because no matter what you say your body seems to say differently." Alfred gasped.

"Stop it, Artie! We can't!" Alfred protested, shaking off Arthur's grip on his head and fixing his hat.

Arthur felt annoyed at that cap. It was in his way. He wanted to touch Alfred's hair. "And why's that?" He shifted his body so that he could align their hips, moving to rub against Alfred's and humming in pleasure at it. He removed Alfred's glasses and placed them to the side. He was once again he was hit with nostalgia as Alfred's face was filled with his age of looking quite young. Arthur kissed his cheek.

Alfred appeared to be having a rough time. "B-because-nng!" Arthur was tired of hearing Alfred protest and captured his lips roughly, forcing his way inside as he pressed harder and moved against Alfred faster. Alfred moaned into his mouth and closed his eyes, kissing back. Arthur used his free hands to work at Alfred's sash, wanting to pull those pants off. Alfred's eyes snapped open and he pulled away.

"No! Stop it, Arthur! I'm serious!" He struggled but Arthur pinned his arms.

"I won't stop." He forced Alfred's shirt up and off of the boy's body exposing the chiseled chest as Alfred struggled to fix his messed up cap. Arthur was distracted by this new open skin and made it his duty to touch and taste everything, his nether regions hardening at the sight. He had always liked well-built men. He preferred them over the lithe body he himself owned. He bit down on Alfred's nipple before coming up to kiss him again. Absently his hands used the pants sash to tie Alfred's hands to the head of the bed, more reflexive than thought out.

"P-please stop!" Alfred begged as Arthur continued to molest him, his hands running over every available expanse of skin and causing Alfred to arch. "No! Arthur!" His legs kicked out but then snapped back and bend to give him the lift he needed to arch upward as Arthur mouthed the bulge in his pants. "A-Ah! N-no!" Arthur wondered why Alfred was still fighting even as Arthur used his tongue to lick and suck Alfred through the pants. Alfred quaked beneath him, his legs coming together to hold Arthur in place even as his mouth protested. "Arthur…Arthur, no, stop! Please stop! England, stop it!" Arthur instantly stopped and sat up swiftly, staring at Alfred with now terribly suspicious eyes. Alfred's eyes were closed, panting under the ministrations Arthur had ensued upon him and shivering at the loss because his body was full of want.

Arthur pressed a hand to Alfred's throat, instantly causing the boy's eyes to open. He glared. "How do you know my real name?" He demanded angrily. "You should not be able to know it!" Alfred stared at him with wide eyes and Arthur could practically see him forming an excuse in his lust-riddled mind. He looked up at the cap and scowled before ripping the thing off. He suddenly fell back in shock as a single strand of hair stuck up. He realized then just why Alfred looked so familiar and his heart went cold with shock and guilt and confusion.

Alfred's own face was a little pale. "Oh, um…"

"America…" England whispered. It was true. He couldn't be anybody else. He was older, that's for sure, and he had lost most of his baby fat but Alfred was no doubt his darling little brother America. He covered his mouth realizing just what he had been doing to the boy and turned bright red. "H-How?" He demanded.

"England, listen to me, okay?" America broke free of his restraint and sat up and grabbed England's wrist to pull him closer. "It's complicated, okay?"

England yanked his arm away. "Explain it to me! Right now!" He was angry now. "You're America, are you not? How did you arrive here? And how did you age so much? You can't have possibly become this big!"

America ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "If you shut up, I'll explain!" Arthur quieted, angry that he was being told what to do but he wanted answers. "Okay, yes I am America, but I'm not the America you know."

"What the devil do you mean?"

"Dude!" England quieted again, glaring. "I mean, I'm from…well, a different time period." When England didn't say anything but raised an eyebrow disbelievingly America continued, "My friend Tony has a time machine and we were testing it out. I was trying to visit you…but the you from my time. It screwed up and I ended up here instead. That's what that light was."

"You mean to tell me you're America from the future?" Arthur scoffed. "How am I to know it true?"

America leaned over Arthur, gazing at him with fiery blue eyes that caused England's eyes to widen. "Because unlike the naïve kid you know from this time, I know exactly what's going on in Europe and how it will turn out and what you're going to do to me." England was frozen, his heart pounding in surprise, fear, and –embarrassingly- a tad bit of lust. This America was a turn on. Seeing that England still didn't quite believe him he said, "Think about what we've talked about over this time that I've been here. Think carefully. I know you're a smart guy." So England gave him the benefit of the doubt and considered their previous conversations. He was still suspicious but he found himself believing America. What reason would the boy lie to him? And his own feelings told him that this was indeed America. He understood now why America didn't have the "English feel" to him but at the same time that confused him. While his little brother had a distinctly American feeling, the English one was there as well. It wasn't present in this America. It was overwhelmingly America.

England didn't stop himself from wrapping his arms around America's neck and pulling him down so that their foreheads touched. "Prove it." He whispered, on the verge of falling for America's eyes. They were alike in every way from the child America he knew. America closed his eyes and began to hum the tune of an old lullaby England used to sing him to sleep with –one that he had long ago had forgotten the name and lyrics to but never forgot the tune for. Even to that day when he was scared he would hum it to himself or absently. England's eyes widened and his breath caught. Nobody but he and America knew that song for he had made it just for America himself. He hugged America tighter. "America…" He whispered. America laughed a little. England pulled away. "But…tell me then, if you're not the America from now, when are you from?"

America grinned. England's heart skipped a beat. "Would you believe me if I told you I come from 2012?" Arthur felt his heart stop and a lump form in his throat. That was a little under three centuries. No wonder America was so grown up.

"Astounding." He breathed. America suddenly developed a complicated look on his face and England raised an eyebrow. America turned a little pink, causing England to take a breath.

"England, this might seem weird but…" He leaned down and kissed England. England hesitated at kissing him back and America pulled away. "I want to continue from earlier. You said you wanted to fuck me, right?"

"Really, you shouldn't talk in such a way." England said. His body urged him to follow through with what America was suggesting, but his heart and mind were against it. "I can't. You're my brother."

America's eyes narrowed and England was startled. He didn't like being called that? "I'm not your little brother England. I haven't been for a long time." Before England could ask what he meant, America cut him off by kissing him again, harder this time and yanking England's pants down. He pulled back. "And I've also wanted this for a long time so if you're still wanting, then let's do this." He pulled England up this time so that they both were on their bottoms and kissed him hard, pushing past his lips. England found himself kissing back this time and allowed himself to lose control like earlier. He could question later. Right now his body was needy and Alfred was offering himself up.

He forced America back into his mouth and dominated him, shoving him back onto the bed and molesting his mouth. America grunted and gripped the back of England's head with one hand and the other wrapped around his waist, fighting for the dominance he had once had. He moved to flip their positions but England would have none of it. He pinned his arms down and bit his lower lip. America gasped and broke the kiss, tilting his head back. "Fuck!" He whispered as England attacked him, having established their roles. America had lost. England sat up and clawed at America's pants to get them off as America pushed him down and did the same with England's undergarments. England was surprised by America's undergarments, the short things quite different from what he was used to but he brushed past that as the two of them were stripped naked.

England pulled America down into another kiss, his hands wandering across his back –mindful of the still-healing wounds there- and down to squeeze America's firm arse. America grunted as their cocks aligned and they moved against each other, England moaning wantonly and spreading America's legs to probe at the man's entrance. America gasped and pulled away, red-faced. England smirked. "Tell me, Alfred, are you a virgin?"

"What? No, of course not! I'm over two hundred –of course I've had sex! Just…not with a guy." He admitted after a moment. England flipped them and dug into the case beside his bed to pull out a vial of oil before he poured a little in his hand to warm it.

"I see." His coated fingers probed America's entrance, causing the man to flinch before relaxing and accepting his fate, not looking completely happy at the fact he was bottoming. England wouldn't allow him the pleasure of topping for his first time with a man. Alfred was a part of _his_ crew, after all. He pushed a second finger in and stretched him some, kissing up his neck. America grabbed his hair and yanked him to crash their lips together groaning England's name. England panted against his mouth craving Alfred now and removing his fingers without fully prepping him.

America watched him as England began to coat himself, stroking his cock and mumbling Alfred's name with his eyes closed. America smacked his hands away and pulled him closer, wrapping his legs around England's waist. "Are we actually going to do this, or are you just gonna jerk yourself off in front of me?"

"Watch it, boy." Arthur smiled at him and lifted Alfred's hips a little higher to position himself. "You're still a dog, after all."

Alfred glared at him but smirked. "Woof woof." Arthur plunged straight into him as far as he could go as Alfred screamed out, his body arching to accommodate England's girth and his eyes watering from the pain. "Fuck, you couldn't have been more careful?" He cried, his tears falling. England felt guilt rip through his system as he remembered this was America, not just some crewmate he was using. He wanted to pull out. He wanted to stop this. He was hurting America. He was hurting his little brother-

America pulled him down into a kiss that pulled England's fears away from him as he absorbed it. He would take the consequences later. Right now, Alfred was here and he was deep within him and he was surrounded by hot tight heat of this virgin arse. England moaned into his mouth and began his movements, slow at first as he was being more considerate but he sped up quickly calling Alfred's name. "Oh god, Alfred….Alfred….nng-ah!" He leaned forward to press his forehead into America's neck as he gripped America's hips to hold him in place.

America's hands clawed at his shoulders, arching up to meet England's thrusts soon after he became used to the feeling and Arthur found his sweet spot causing Alfred's toes to curl as he cried out in pleasure. "G-God, England! Faster!" He reached to pull England closer, pull him deeper –to merge their bodies. England listened and sped up, his breathing erratic now as his thrusts started to lose tempo a bit but he kept it up feeling Alfred tighten slowly around him. Arthur knew that Alfred was going to lose it soon and he arched against him to bring his own end faster. Alfred sobbed his name once and his nails dug into England's back before he came crying his lover's name. Arthur clenched his eyes shut and captured Alfred's lips as he helped the boy ride out his orgasm before he himself moaned loudly and climaxed, shuddering as he filled his lover.

The two were silent for a time as only the sound of panting filled the air and the splashing of waves outside of the ship. Finally Arthur sat up and pulled out of Alfred and sat back on his bottom. Alfred waited a moment before sitting up and startling the captain by pulling him into his lap and kissing him passionately –something hidden within the kiss that made England's heart and eyelids flutter as he leaned into it, wrapping his arms around Alfred's neck. Alfred pulled away and pecked his lips once before grinning. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting for that."

Arthur hummed. "I do believe ye have some explaining to do." Alfred opened his mouth to begin when from outside a loud, "LAND HO!" was called. Arthur sighed –reluctant to have to pull away from Alfred's warm embrace- and got up to get dressed. "I suppose it will have to wait, then."

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**A/N: Woo! It's done! Now to work on Brother Complex!  
Review my darlings~**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Okay, I'm going to point out now that colonial America is not my forte in American history (I'm much better with the Antebellum years and onward) so if something seems to be historically inaccurate please inform me and I'll try to fix my mistake. If it alters it too much though, I might now be able to but please tell me. QnQ I hate being totally off on these types of things.  
**

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Arthur pulled on his clothing rather quickly and easily as Alfred struggled to yank on his tight pants, wincing. Arthur assumed the winces were because of their sex. He hadn't exactly been easy on him. He felt no regret or guilt however, feeling instead completely refreshed and left Alfred to work on his clothing as he went to the upper deck to gaze upon the land. He felt a smile begin to spread across his lips as his hand entered his coat to stroke his heart sapphire. They had reached the New World. He would get to see his little brother soon after many months.

Arthur felt a presence near him and Francis came up next to him. "I see you've claimed Alfred." He stated. Arthur didn't bother to respond. "Was he good?" Again Arthur ignored him, feeling disgusted by the questions. Normally he wouldn't have really minded but in this one instance he refused to say. Alfred wasn't just a simple fuck. Francis gave up with a sigh, looking a little confused but not mentioning it. "What will you have me do, 'Captain'? We're approaching the New World."

"The moment we reach land you're going straight to jail." He answered.

"What!" Francis reeled back, agape. "You can't!"

"I can." Arthur grinned mercilessly. Francis looked devastated. Arthur ignored him and walked past Alfred –his body lit up with gooseflesh as they brushed, which surprised him considering what they had just done- to get his crew ready to pull into port. His body tingled. He would get to see his little America again. He hadn't seen his little brother in a number of months –practically a year now. He had brought back gifts with him. He couldn't wait to see him and play with him. The war in Europe was rough and he had so much to deal with. America was a breath of fresh air.

An hour actually passed before the ship reached the dock and the men hurried both on deck and on the dock to tie the ship up and to unload it. Arthur watched as Francis was led off by two men to the local jailhouse and he gazed at the town. New York was growing large under the English command. It was a roaring port and already was becoming quite the large town. Not as big as London, of course, but still quite large. The scent in the air was fresh with dirt and sea wind and the smell of a bakery. Arthur was slightly surprised by the bakery but was glad for it. Perhaps he would buy America some bread.

He stepped off of his ship and removed his hat to tuck it into his coat for the meantime. A carriage was pulling up for him soon, he knew. There was always one waiting. It was just determining which one. "Wow, look at this place. It reeks." Arthur started slightly at the voice right next to his ear and turned his head to see Alfred gazing around them with wide eyes that had a look of excitement and hardness in them. His hair was slicked back again. Arthur understood now why he had done that. That little cowlick that stuck up on his head was recognizable. He had been trying to hide his identity from Arthur. Supposedly. Arthur still wasn't completely convinced he was America, but he was willing to give him a chance now.

"This place smells quite clean actually." Arthur could already feel his way of speaking returning to its norm now that he was off of his ship. He spoke in more of a gentlemanly manner off of the ship. He wasn't pirate Captain Kirkland. Now he was the representative of Great Britain. He needed to maintain his image. He would have to change when he made it to America's house.

"I guess. New York is definitely…fresher in this time, I guess." Alfred nodded. "So you heading to little me's house? What should I do?"

Arthur paused and glanced at Alfred. What did he want the man to do? He didn't want to let him just run off but he could easily just let him follow the crew. They would take care of him. But at the same time Arthur had staked his claims on Alfred. He was quite attracted to the man and if he really was the supposed 'future America' he didn't want him out of his sight. He wanted to keep him with him.

With a slight start Arthur realized he had developed emotions for Alfred. When had this occurred? He cared for the man. Cared for him quite a bit actually. Arthur found himself saying, "You'll be coming with me."

Alfred looked a little relieved. "Yeah? Sure you don't mind?"

"Alfred, just get in the bloody carriage." Arthur walked over to the one he knew was his and climbed into it. Alfred followed soon after, hopping in next to Arthur and looking around.

"Wow, I haven't been in one of these since…hm…the 1960s! Hahaha and that was only for fun too!" He grinned, ecstatic. Arthur was surprised and curious to see Alfred acting in such a way. He hadn't seen him act so childish –except with the crew- around only him. It was here he could easily tell this was indeed America. The way his smile brightened and his eyes shone sent a wave of joy through Arthur's own heart and he found himself watching as Alfred pointed things out to him. "Check it out! Remember that tree, Artie? I broke one of the branches trying to save a bird but the bird flew off and scared me!"

Arthur's heart jumped with shock. "Y-yes, and you scared the heavens out of me."

"Hahaha, but I was okay!" He turned to Arthur, the wind from the opening in the carriage blowing a strand that had loosened from the grease in Alfred's hair into his face as he grinned at him with glittering blue eyes. Arthur felt a lump form in his throat and he tried to swallow around it. "And you carried me all the way home and made us dinner!" Arthur found it difficult to breathe and his body impulsively moved, wrapping around Alfred's neck and pulling him down into a desperate kiss. He needed air and he felt Alfred was the only one who could give it to him.

Alfred didn't respond for a moment –he was surprised- before he leaned forward a bit and kissed Arthur back, softening the kiss. It was Arthur's turn to be taken by surprise by how gentle the kiss was. He had never been kissed in such a way before. He melted into the kiss and closed his eyes. The two of them stayed like that for a minute, their mouths moving slowly against each other without sexual intent; instead there was something else but Arthur couldn't name but he wanted more of –something he wanted oh so much more of.

He didn't want the moment to end but Alfred pulled away from him first and pressed their heads together to gaze into his eyes. Arthur stared into those familiar blue eyes and tried to read them. They were filled to the brim with…something but there was a wall there. There was something hidden, blocking Arthur's access into Alfred's heart. And Arthur discovered that if he wanted to know Alfred's secrets he would have to watch Alfred beautiful eyes. That wall, he knew, came from maturity. Experience, would be a better word. This America was so much older than the one Arthur knew. He wasn't naïve. His soul wasn't held on his sleeve like the child was. This America was so much more experienced. Arthur leaned up to kiss him again but Alfred suddenly turned away to look back out the opening in the carriage.

"So Artie, am I still a kid?" Arthur was left floundering for a moment trying to regain his thought process and quickly did so but he was confused by the question. Was he talking about Alfred himself or the younger America?

"Whatever do you mean?"

Alfred didn't look back at him and brushed that loose strand back so that it became caught up in the grease. "…" For a period of time he didn't respond before asking, "In this time period, how old do I look?"

"You mean how developed your country is." England stated. "You're still young. You looked to be about three last I saw you." Alfred nodded silently and tilted his head as he gazed out of the carriage, looking at the people and the land he saw. Arthur was left to wonder what was going through the nation's mind.

* * *

As the carriage arrived Arthur gathered himself up with his luggage but allowed for the servants to get it. He barely had time to turn around when he heard a loud, "ENGLAND!" and a force slammed into him. Arthur barely had time to straighten himself and keep himself upright as he caught the figure and laughed.

"Why hello, America!" He lifted the boy. America's wide blue eyes sparkled with joy. He had grown slightly. England could tell his hair was recently cut. He still wore the same white tunic that he had found him in, however.

"I'm so glad you have returned, England!" America cried happily and hugged his neck. "I've missed you!"

England laughed softly again and began walking towards the house. "And I as well. Have you been a good boy?"

"Yes! I've been doing everything I'm supposed to!" America watched him, never once looking away. England's heart swelled to have such doting attention put upon him. He loved his little brother dearly.

"That's very good, then. You'll surely grow big and strong."

"I'm going to be just like you, England!" America agreed and hopped out of England's arms to run into the house. England was about to follow after when a suitcase suddenly blocked his path. He looked over and saw Alfred grin at him, but there was a slightly darker look in his eyes that caused England's skin to prickle.

"Sorry, it was heavier than I expected, _England_." He shifted the weight and carried the luggage inside. England stood there watching, shocked by the encounter. He had completely overlooked Alfred. He had forgotten that America's older self was right here. England had expected him to be embarrassed by all of the doting the little boy gave him, but instead Alfred looked mildly upset. Whatever could have been the reason, though? England felt that Alfred was hiding many things from him. He desperately wanted to know what. England hated not knowing.

He noticed that Alfred went exactly to where England's bedroom was but England himself went on to America's room in search of the boy. He was curious to see how the two would react to each other. Would America recognize that Alfred is him? Would he sense it? What would England introduce Alfred as, anyhow?

He found the child in his bedroom cleaning his bed and chuckled. "I see you haven't been completely following what I say?" He said jokingly.

America jumped. "England!" He played with the hem of his tunic bashfully, caught. "I forgot today…"

"It's fine for today, America." He crouched down and opened his arms. "Come here. I want you to meet the other person that will be staying with us for a while." America ran into England's arms and England captured him and stood, spinning around a little and kissing his forehead before starting to head over to where Alfred was.

"Who is it, England?" America asked.

"A friend of mine. He's become a part of my crew recently." England entered his bedroom and found Alfred putting Arthur's clothes away. England was rather surprised by it until he began to realize the boy looked rather agitated and nervous. He paused at hearing England's voice and his eyes zeroed in on America held in his older brother's arms. As awkward as it was, England knew he needed to "introduce" the two. "America, this is Alfred F. Jones. You may call him-"

"You can call me Alfred! What's up, little man?" Alfred walked towards them but stopped a little bit away so he wasn't too close. America became quieter in his shyness but still looked excited to meet him.

"Hi, Alfred!" He waved and grinned. "You speak funny!"

"Now America, that's not nice." England scolded gently. America looked down a little, scolded.

"Hahaha, it's fine England! Don't worry about it!" Alfred said and turned to leave the room. "I'll go put the horse and everything up!" He told them and left the house. England was quiet as he watched him and America did as well. After a moment America looked at England and smiled.

"I like him!"

England smiled back at him. "Why is that?"

"I feel like I already know him!" America wiggled out of England's arms and spun around once for fun. "We're going to be close friends, I know!"

* * *

The sun had set and night had fallen and Arthur realized he hadn't seen Alfred all day after he left the house. The horse had been taken care of and everything was put away correctly but Arthur hadn't seen him doing any of the things. He wondered where Alfred could've disappeared to. He decided to wait until America had fallen asleep in his bed before Arthur carried him to America's own bed and tucked him in. He then searched the house before leaving it.

He didn't have to travel far to see a figure in a distance. His body stiffened a little but he recognized the outline of the person and approached. "Alfred, there you are." Alfred looked at him for a moment before turning back, looking out across the land from his position on top of a rather large hill. Arthur frowned. "You've been acting peculiar." He stated.

"Not really." Alfred responded and closed his eyes to take a deep breath.

"You have. I haven't seen you all day."

"You miss me?" He grinned cheekily at Arthur. Arthur found himself flustered and stuttered,

"N-No! That's not it at all! Don't misunderstand; I just think you were being rude!"

Alfred laughed. "Sorry, England. It's just…it's amazing." Arthur raised an eyebrow at him in question and waited. "This land. My land. I haven't breathed air this fresh in New York for a long time. The land beneath me is so fresh!" Arthur looked down and noticed Alfred was barefooted. Alfred buried his toes into the earth. "I feel the thrum of people in my land I haven't felt in a long time!" He spread his arms wide and a wind caught him and blew his hair –the grease was gone from it now and it appeared to be drying so Alfred must have bathed- and clothes back. "I had forgotten the feeling of being so new!" A wide grin spread across his face.

Arthur smiled seeing Alfred like this. He looked so young. He envied that feeling of being young. He wondered how it would feel if he somehow went back in time. He would teach his siblings a thing or two, that's for sure. He smirked a little but then a thought occurred to him. "But Alfred if you're feeling what America is, then how come you're not as young as him?"

"Because," Alfred turned to face him. The moon silhouetted him beautifully. Arthur thought he looked like a descended angel, "I'm so much bigger than British America. I have so much more land. I own everything from the Atlantic to the Pacific! It was my Destiny, after all!" He spun around. "I can feel it all. I can feel British America's life, I can feel the people owned by Spain and by Russia and by France! I can feel all of them!" He laughed joyfully. Arthur wondered exactly how much land America represented and why he called America British America.

For a long period of time neither of them spoke and instead sat down together in the dark. Arthur could barely make out Alfred's form even in the moonlight and he was slightly nervous about being outside in such wilderness but America looked to be completely at ease. Arthur found himself watching him. The boy had his eyes closed and absorbing the world around him. He seemed to positively glow figuratively. Arthur admired him and felt a spike of pride. The little boy he's raising now would become this man. He would become this gorgeous, strong, stupid, adorable, loving America. A blush erupted on his face at his thoughts and he shook them. Should he really be thinking of America in such a way? This was his little brother! He couldn't! But he had already claimed America. And he had kissed him too.

He looked back over at Alfred and he found America looking at him. He jumped. "England, what are we?" He asked.

"Wh-what do you mean?"

"What are we? Are we lovers? Boyfriends? Nothing? What?"

Arthur found his eyes adjusting some. "N-none of those. We're brothers, remember?" England knew immediately he said something wrong as the comfortable atmosphere around them changed and even through the dark he could see Alfred's jaw clench. "A-Alfr-?"

Alfred stood abruptly and started walking off. "So where am I sleeping tonight, England? With the servants?"

"What? No, of course not." Arthur shook his head and quickly followed him.

"Then where?"

Arthur was silent, not understanding the change in topic at all. An idea occurred to him and he blushed a little as they entered the house. He lowered his voice. "Y-you could sleep with me."

Alfred paused and looked at him, a little surprised. "You sure?"

Arthur was glad it was dark in the house so his face couldn't be seen. "Yes. I-It's only temporary, mind you! Don't receive the incorrect idea!"

Alfred laughed once. "Alright." He walked into Arthur's bedroom followed by Arthur himself and stripped of all of his clothes except for his strange undergarments. He then crawled into the bed. Arthur undressed as well and joined him. The bed was rather small and so left the two snuggly pressed together. Arthur felt his body heat up being pressed to Alfred like this. With America as a little boy there was plenty of room. This was physical proof of how much America had changed. He found himself gazing into Alfred's eyes.

Alfred shifted around a lot, trying to find a comfortable spot. Arthur scowled at all of the movement and put up with it for ten minutes before he demanded, "Will you just _stay still_ already!"

Alfred whined. "These beds are so uncomfortable and it's too uncomfy to be pressed together like this –wait, I've got it!" Alfred wrapped an arm around Arthur's waist from under the blanket and tucked Arthur's head under his chin before sighing contently. Arthur turned bright red.

"W-what do you think you're doing! Release me!"

"Oh come on. It's nice like this! Besides, we had sex earlier anyway and I didn't get to cuddle afterwards. Deal with it, dude." Arthur was thrown a little with the way Alfred spoke but understood that he was stuck where he was. He gave up, warm in Alfred's embrace and feeling heavy-lidded. He could smell a strange musk on America –one that smelt of some kind of cooked meat and something sweet. But underneath of that Arthur could smell the same scent little America carried with him. It was the scent of America, pure and simple. Arthur found his eyes falling close the next moment and the last thing he recalled was dreaming of being with this older America alone deep in the forest, just the two of them, and not even thinking of them being brothers. To England, at that moment, America was his lover.

* * *

**A/N: Okay, there's a reason why I chose New York. In my personal mind canon New York (maybe not during the colonial time period but in modern day) represents America's heart (let's face it, when people think of America and places they want to visit, New York is usually the place) and D.C. is actually more his brain-ish. Yeah. Anyway, I wanted them to be in his 'heart'. Haha, oh you're so creative Tsuki. Why fank you. *shot***

**Reviews make my day and make me type faster!**


	6. Chapter 6

England's eyes blinked awake slowly to the sound of peals of laughter. He stretched his arms and found that he hit nothing. He frowned and sat up, more annoyed at waking up alone more than he really should've been. Where was Alfred at? He had been looking forward to waking up being held in someone's arms…

The laughter snapped him out of his thoughts and he climbed out of bed to grab some fresh garments to change into. When he had done so and fixed his hair some he opened his door to see Alfred dash past followed by Little America, who was the source of the laughter. England stepped out of his door to watch Alfred turn and jump clear over America's head and dash back towards England.

"Good morning, Artie!" He called and dashed behind him to have him stand between America and Alfred. America laughed and tried to reach Alfred but Alfred twisted Arthur to keep him between them.

"Wha-What are you doing?" Arthur demanded, upset at being used in such a fashion.

"We're playing tag, England!" America said, still trying to get Alfred. "It's fun!"

"That's enough!" England said and both Americas stopped. "America, have you washed up at all? Both of you need to!" Alfred released Arthur and moved to stand next to America, both wearing similar pouting faces.

"But England…" America murmured.

"I don't have to listen to you! You're not my mom." Alfred crossed his arms and walked off. England gaped at the blatant disrespect and disobedience. He scowled after him. Why were these reactions so different from the same person?

"I-I'll go now." America said and dashed away to go wash up. Arthur took this chance to stalk after Alfred.

"What the devil was that?" He demanded when he had reached him. Alfred was by a tree and was going for a fruit on it.

"I was playing tag with him. But he can't touch me, dude. You can't let him." Alfred stated. Arthur frowned, confused.

"Why?"

"Because it'll cause a paradox. Two of the same people can't exist at the same time. If he touched me one of us will die. If he dies, then I die. If I die, then he doesn't have a long future. Either way, our life will suck." Alfred grabbed the fruit and drops back to the ground to eat it. Arthur was pale with horror. His heart seemed to stop at the thought. The risk was enormous. America was right. Something horrible could happen. "Or something like that," Alfred continued. "I don't know all of the 'Doctor Who rules of the multiverse'." Arthur, by that point, was lost but decided not to pursue it.

He recalled yesterday and frowned and approached him. "Alfred…Something has been bothering me."

"What?" Alfred asked, still eating his fruit. He sprayed a little. Arthur wiped his face, disgusted.

"It's about your reaction…Alfred, exactly what are we in the future?"

Alfred froze, his apple part way to his mouth. He lowered it slowly. "What do you mean?"

"I mean…us. Are we brothers? You say we're not but then…" Arthur grew worried. America was his little brother. Why was he denying that? For what purpose would he deny that relationship?

Alfred looked away. "England…you and I haven't been brothers for a long time. I'm independent of you." England's heart jumped in horror. "I mean, the age of imperialization's pretty much over. I stopped being your brother when I became independent."

"Wh…when did this occur?" England whispered. Alfred refused to meet his eyes.

"I can't tell you. It could change history."

"Alfred…" He reached for Alfred and touched his face. America still didn't look at him. Arthur's heart trembled with fear. He didn't want to lose America. "Th…then what are we in the future, if not brothers?" Arthur hoped to God the words 'nothing' would not come from Alfred's mouth. He didn't want to hear that. He always wanted to be connected to Alfred in some way. But Alfred didn't respond. Instead a noticeable look of distress crossed his face. "Alfred." Arthur tried again. Alfred's eyes misted over some and Arthur's heart rate sped up more. "Oh god, America. Tell me." He begged, stepping closer so that he was leaning on Alfred. The man was taller than him by a couple of inches. Arthur himself was only physically eighteen, after all.

America finally looked at him and smiled a heartbreaking smile that did just that to England. "You hate me." He said softly.

Arthur stepped sharply away from him. "Impossible." He whispered. "I could never hate you."

"You don't know what I did to you, though." America said in the same tone. His eyes watered but he was trying to keep it in. England understood that whatever America did, it hurt him too.

"What did you do?" He asked. America shook his head telling him he couldn't tell him. Arthur frowned, completely unhappy now. "Is it something you regret?" Alfred shook his head again.

"It's the only way you could see me as a man." He whispered, teary-eyed.

"Then why are you the one crying?" England stepped forward again and cupped Alfred's cheeks in his hands, brushing away the tears with his thumbs. Alfred gave a soft sob.

"B-Because I love you, England." Arthur's eyes widened. "I have for so long but now you hate me because I tried to get you to see me as an adult." He sobbed softly and enveloped Arthur into a hug, burying his face into his shoulder just like he did as a child and he was sad. Arthur was left frozen in his hold. He couldn't believe the two thoughts. Alfred was in love with him but his future self hated him? What could America have possibly done to make him hate him?

Arthur hugged him and rubbed his back. He couldn't ask him. He won't answer. But maybe he would receive an answer later. He decided to try to figure it out later. "America, my boy, I could never hate you." He whispered soothingly into his ear and kissed his cheek.

"Not now, you can't. But you will." Alfred whispered back. He appeared to be calming down. Arthur could feel little pricks at his heart. He hated hearing America sad. He hated his tears. But most importantly he hated that he was the cause.

"Come now. Let's get you washed up. We have the whole day ahead of us." Arthur pulled away from him, holding his shoulders. Alfred took off his glasses and wiped his eyes. Arthur wanted to sigh in appreciation. He adored those eyes.

"Yeah, you're right. Sorry about that. I haven't cried in a long time." Alfred smiled a little.

Arthur wiped a tear from Alfred's face. "Everyone needs a good cry every now and again. Now come." The two then walked back to the cabin.

* * *

A week and a half passed with Arthur spending a good deal of his time with Alfred and America. It was….the best time he'd had in a long time. It wasn't often he could be with America, but to talk this grown-up version was a pleasure as well…even if the man was rather annoying on many occasions. He didn't help out with America but instead watched Arthur do it all. However Alfred did help to feed the boy and often went hunting. He was surprisingly good with both a bow and arrow and a gun.

Also during that time, Alfred had been telling Arthur bits and pieces about the future. He amazed England with tales of portraits that could be made by a machine in only a second and could be made to put on a wall. And then there was a machine that could make pictures move and make sounds called "movies". Alfred also raved about machinery that allowed one to talk to people in other countries as if they were right next to you. It all seemed rather far-fetched but Arthur had no reason to not believe Alfred. After all he was supposedly from the time period that this all occurred.

Alfred also told him of events to come such as largest wars the world has ever seen that involved the whole world –the thought of it terrified Arthur but Alfred assured him that a hero would save them, whatever that meant- and of natural disasters. Arthur noticed how a melancholy and wistful look appeared on the boy's face as he gradually stopped talking about such depressing things. Arthur didn't push them.

It was on the second week of them being in America and they were settling down for the evening in Arthur's bed. Arthur had grown used to curling up in Alfred's arms every night and didn't fuss as much over it any longer. He would never admit it out loud but he loved the warmth he received from Alfred's body. He loved waking up to find his presence next to him in bed.

"Good night, England." Alfred murmured into his hair, his body relaxed against England's.

England didn't want to sleep quite yet, though. Something had been bothering him for a while now. He couldn't let it pass any longer. "America." Alfred grunted. "America, tell me…what made me hate you in the future."

Alfred immediately stiffened in and Arthur felt guilty for causing it, but not enough to stop him. "England, I already told you I can't tell you." He replied slowly.

England moved his head so he could look at Alfred, even if he couldn't see anything because of the darkness. Nonetheless he knew where Alfred's eyes were and made sure to gaze into them. "I know, but I can't stand it. Tell me." His hand came up to stroke Alfred's cheek.

He could feel Alfred's stare piercing him. "…If I tell you, you'll try to stop me."

"No, I won't."

"Yes, you will. I know you so much more than you think I do, England. You will try to stop me and I can't let you." Alfred sounded completely certain. Arthur didn't respond for a long moment.

"And if I swear not to?"

"A swear is useless to a nation and you know it. We break vows all of the time."

"…If I swear on my life as a nation and individual?" This time Alfred hesitated. Arthur realized what he was getting into by saying that. It was…the strongest unwritten swear a nation could make. It could be broken, but doing such a thing was not only an insult but an ultimate shame upon that country. It made them untrustworthy. Arthur knew he was too prideful to ever bare that shame and so by making this promise to Alfred…hopefully the nation understood the deeper implication behind it.

For a long moment Alfred didn't answer but then he slowly spoke up. "You must swear that you will do whatever I say. You can't go against it and change my future. I'm serious, England." America moved so that he was towering over England with his face close enough that even in the darkness, England saw his blue eyes flash with fire. England's breath hitched. It was the same fire from when America had announced on the ship that he wasn't England's little brother. "If you break this promise, I won't hesitate to hurt you." His hands found and gripped Arthur's wrists tight enough that Arthur winced. "When I eventually go back to the future, I'll come back to this time and I will stop myself from telling you. And if that doesn't work, I'll hurt you myself."

Arthur gazed back at him, his breathing fast –he wouldn't admit that this America terrified him (how was it possible he felt so threatened from this innocent boy?) ever- and said in the calmest voice he could manage, "I swear to everything you say. You have permission to hurt me if I prove you wrong."

They stared each other down with America gauging England's truthfulness before England was released and America sat up to pull out his lighter (the thing had terrified Arthur at first but Alfred had reassured him) to light up a candle in the room for light. "Fine…I'll tell you." He took a breath and looked at England. Without his glasses he was the boy England knew well. He had to keep in mind that he wasn't his little brother, though. "You didn't grant me independence, England, I revolted."

England froze. "What…?" He breathed, shocked.

America's facial expression didn't change, it being a stony façade. "I revolted. The American Revolution. And I win." England stared at him uncomprehending. He tried to imagine it, his little brother carrying a gun and aiming it at him.

"Impossible. You're a child. You can't possibly win against my army." England whispered, unable to raise his voice higher.

"You're wrong. When you leave and come back, I'll be older. And the time after that, I will be a man." America refused to break his stare away from England's face. "I grow up faster than you expected. My physical age is about seventeen by the time I revolt."

England was trembling. He could feel it in his heart. He would have to fight against America. He would lose his beloved child. "I-Isn't there anything I can do to change your mind?" He begged.

America's eyes darkened. "No. Nothing."

"But why!" England grabbed America's shoulders. "Why would you leave me? I've given you the best of things!"

"I won't tell you the historical reason. Because I can't allow you to change anything." America took England's face into his hands as his eyes softened. England realized he had started crying. "Please, England, don't treat my younger self any different than you would have without this knowledge. Give my younger self everything. Because look how I've turned out today." England paused in his mental freak-out and looked up at this adult America. The man smiled. "Look at me now. I may have left you, but you already know I'm in love with you. I would happily be back together with you but…" He trailed off, saddened.

England gazed at him and tried to push past this new information. Yes, that was right. He was looking into the future. He was looking at what America –this tiny child he had found in the New World- would become. This was America. How had he said his name was? "The United States of America" How would that work out? He didn't know. But this man in front of him was that being.

And America was right. If the man in front of him truly did love him like he said he did, then he could have him back. He could take him back. They wouldn't be brothers but instead lovers. The thought of being the older brother to this man seemed to stir something in him and didn't like. He didn't want to be his older brother. America was too gorgeous. He was a prize for anybody.

England placed a hand on America's chest over his heartbeat and America looked at him but they both stayed silent. Yes, England could feel it. He could feel the power in his touch. America was a powerful country. He was even more powerful than England himself was and he was nearly at his prime right now. He could never control him. He would be crushed. He knew even if he tried to break this promise and stop the younger America from becoming independent it wouldn't stop him from trying again and again. It would be too hard on England to stop him. He had his own war going on back at his house. Yes, this was meant to be. He could feel it.

"England?" America whispered, breaking England's thoughts. England looked up at him. "What will you do?"

England closed his eyes. "…I'll listen to you. As painful as it is." America pulled him close and kissed him, startling England but it didn't stop him from kissing back. Their mouths moved together and America pushed him back onto the bed as their lips opened to allow their tongues to move against each other. England felt like he was sinking into something he should be wary of far quicker than logic told him was right. But he couldn't bring himself to stop.

America was the first to pull back, his breathing hard. "Thank you, England. It's the best choice."

England felt tears run from his eyes. "I know." He said hoarsely.

"You still have plenty of time." America reassured him. "You still have some years left. Cherish it." England nodded once and America kissed him again before they settled down once again to go to sleep.

* * *

**A/N: I feel like I made America a little OOC…dammit. Anyway, once again we're moving quickly!**

**Review! (Sorry it was so late)**


	7. Chapter 7

They weren't together. England knew that. He and Alfred were _not_ a 'couple'. They were simply two friends that were very close to each other. And one of whom was in love with the other. And the other of whom may or may not wish desperately he could be in the other's arms forever. No, they were simply friends. Who also kissed on occasion. Very hot and sensual kisses. Kisses that left England's body trembling with pleasure and need. Kisses that he knew were always full of love and that love made those kisses all the sweeter. He was addicted and heavily so. He wanted more after each one.

But those days were coming to an end as England had to pick up on his work. He had to move quickly since he had been slacking some, spending as much time with the Americas as he could. The days were spent with little America and the nights were spent sharing kisses and wishing Alfred would just go a step further and touch him more. And so he had to work to catch up now, leaving Alfred and the other people of the town to entertain little America. Soon afterwards, England had to go back home. He couldn't stay with America as much as he wanted. He had a war he needed to go back to. Plus, America could handle himself until England came back.

Arthur stood dressed once again in his pirate apparel gazing at the _Bloody Mary_. It was being loaded up with all kinds of supplies for the trip back across the sea. Despite his reluctance to go home, he loved the thought of being back on the ocean. He took a deep breath and looked around for Alfred. The boy had gone missing sometime early that morning –Arthur had felt Alfred leave his arms but he had fallen asleep again too soon after to say anything- and now Arthur was slightly worried as to what happened to him. They would be shipping off soon. He needed to find the elder America.

He headed towards to ship to go check and see if Alfred by chance was on it when his forearm was grabbed and he was yanked behind a stack of boxes and pressed against the wall. His hand went for his gun immediately, but strong hands pinned his wrists to the wall and a body pressed against his, trapping him fully to the wall. He opened his one eye –the other was covered already by an eye patch- to glare at his attacker when a smile lit up his view. His body –somewhat unwillingly- relaxed in recognition.

"You bastard." He said as Alfred chuckled, his laughter shaking Arthur's chest as well. "Don't do that. I could have killed ye."

"Nah, I totally had your arms pinned." Alfred denied, releasing Arthur's wrists to run his hands up Arthur's arms sensually to cup his neck. Arthur shivered, wishing it had been on his skin instead of having a shirt between them. God, Alfred was too large of a tease. He was always left longing after an encounter with him.

"Well it took ye long enough. We need to board." He said, ignoring the touch.

"Hm, well about that…" He didn't go on as he kissed Arthur. Arthur's eyes closed and he wrapped his arms around his neck, kissing back eagerly. Alfred had him opening his mouth instantly and Alfred lifted Arthur's legs to press him more to the wall. Arthur wrapped his legs around Alfred's waist to help support himself as he moaned softly. Alfred caressed his tongue slowly, leaving Arthur trembling for more in his arms. He loved but hated this slow, delicious, torturous love that Alfred gave him.

Alfred pulled back first and just in time for Arthur to maintain his sanity and wits. His blood rushed through him filled with the lust he wanted to satisfy. Alfred was one of the largest teases. He panted softly and kissed him again once before remembering that they had been talking. "Wait, continue what you had said?"

"Oh yeah! Well about that, I'm not going with you back to your home." Alfred said with a smile. Arthur froze.

"What…what do you mean?" He asked.

Alfred looked slightly bashful. "Well, I kind of wanted to stay here for a while. Y'know, to rediscover my roots and such."

"But why? What is there to discover?" He was still confused and saddened. He wanted Alfred to come back with him. He knew he wouldn't be back in the New World for a long time yet.

"Well…You're not gonna like my answer, but I want to learn about my native roots. I never gave…mom…a shot, y'know? Because of what you taught me. I always regretted it." Alfred said.

Arthur's mood darkened a little. Alfred was leaving him for some _savages_? "No. Come with me instead."

"Sorry, Artie! It's my choice!" Alfred shook his head and let Arthur down to stand on his feet. Arthur scowled, contemplating on dragging Alfred onto the ship but knew that Alfred was so much stronger than him. He had to let him go.

"You'll be here when I come back?" Arthur asked.

Alfred shook his head again. "No, you won't see me again until after my…" He didn't finish. Alfred didn't have to.

Arthur gripped Alfred's forearms. "When is that? Is it far away?"

"Not telling." Alfred kissed Arthur softly but lovingly before pulling back, smiling. "I'll see you then, alright?"

Arthur pulled him into a harder kiss, pulling himself tight against him. He wanted his fill of Alfred before he didn't see Alfred for…the Lord knew how long. And he knew just as much as Alfred did that he would need him at that time. It made him scared.

Finally he pulled away fully so that they were no longer touching. "All right." He whispered. "I will see you then." With that he turned and left the alley going to his ship. He stood at the front of the ship as it pulled out, watching the shore. Alfred stood in the crowd of his people and waved once before the boy turned and disappeared into the bustle of the port. Arthur sighed to himself. It would be bittersweet the next time he saw that face again.

* * *

Years passed. It was just as Alfred had said. The next time he saw America, the boy had grown into the size of one who was ten years of age. And the time after that, America was very nearly a man. It left Arthur trembling, but not in the good way. He was terrified. He knew what was to come. Soon –so very, very soon- he would have to fight his precious younger brother. But it would be worth it. It would be worth releasing the boy –but not without trying his damndest to fight him. He would not let America go without a struggle.

And so that struggle came, just as Alfred had said. For the next few years England fought his hardest against the pathetic American forces. And yet somehow they managed to keep fighting despite their lack of experience. England didn't understand how it was possible. How could these inexperienced men match England's well-trained militia? They used strange tactics, that was for sure. It didn't help that that blasted Prussia helped America as well as France and Spain.

Arthur finally came face-to-face with America on the battlefield whilst rain pelted their bloody and mud-stained uniforms. America looked so young and so inexperienced, even now, but he was determined. It broke England's heart and yet made him so proud. America had grown well…but he was not a man yet. The proof of that was that Arthur had been able to knock America's gun away and left himself open to England's attack. But England couldn't shoot him. He just couldn't. He dropped his gun and fell to his knees crying from relief and sorrow. Now the only thing on his side was time.

* * *

One of the newly formed United States of America's commands now that the war was over was that every British soldier on American soil was to be removed and sent back to England. Arthur stood stoically as people moved around him –the men he had fought with and the men who he had fought against leading them to the ships- and stared at America. His eyes were cold as he gazed at his former elder brother. Arthur didn't say anything or change his facial expression at all.

Finally the time for Arthur to board the ship had arrived. He would be leaving American soil for a long time. The only reason to come back now would be to see Canada. America approached him. "You're the last one, England." He stated. He was taller than England now. Arthur had to look up to look at him.

"I realize this, America." He said, his voice indifferent.

"…Arthur Kirkland." America said slowly.

"Indeed. And your name is now?" Upon becoming a country America had decided he would change his name. He had already given up the name Arthur had previously given him.

"…That's none of your business. Now leave." Arthur couldn't help his shock as America turned away from him and walked away. He clenched his fists tightly before pivoting on his foot and boarding his ship. He would stay strong. He had to. He could not show anybody just how much this loss hurt him. And so he kept his stony face as his ship pulled away from the port and away from the cold eyes of the now-Americans standing there.

It was only when they were far enough from America to not see the land anymore that he entered his quarters and lay down on his bed. He closed his eyes and his body shook, trying to repress his feelings. Where was Alfred? The man had lied. He wasn't there. He said he would meet him after the Revolution but Arthur didn't see him. He was alone. Had everything been a lie? His body curled up and he clenched his sheets, air gasping between his teeth. He was breaking down but he was trying not to desperately.

And then there were arms around him, circling his waist from behind and pressing against his back. Arthur froze and slowly turned his head to look. Alfred gazed back at him through his spectacles with soft, caring eyes. He was sympathizing with him. Arthur rolled over and hugged him tightly, his breakdown being held at bay by sheer pride. His body shook with the force of it.

"Alfred." He whispered. "I thought you would not make it."

"I was waiting for you." Alfred murmured and held him tightly. "…Are you okay?"

"No…no, I'm not bloody 'okay'." Arthur said, gripping Alfred's shirt. It was clean and new. Arthur knew enough to know Alfred had stolen the outfit he was wearing. It wasn't his strange clothing from the future.

Alfred kissed him. "It'll be alright, England. I swear it will."

Arthur sobbed once, his tears welling up again. "My brother…my little brother…!" He whimpered. Alfred suddenly pushed England down and towered over him, gazing at him.

"I'm not your little brother, England." Alfred removed his glasses and placed them to the side. England stared at him with wide eyes as his wrists were pinned. "I'm a free country. Say my name."

"Stop it." England whispered. "Don't do this."

"Say it." Alfred repeated, his eyes serious.

"No…stop, Alfred. Stop it!" He cried desperately.

"Say it!" Alfred glared.

"United States of America!" England sobbed, his tears finally escaping. America's grip loosened and England threw his arms over his eyes, wailing. America pulled England's arms away and pressed kisses all over his face and neck. He kissed away England's tears even as more came, the older man not bothering to hide his cries anymore. Finally America kissed his upper lip as England calmed down some. England opened his eyes to see America smiling at him kindly before the man leaned down to kiss him. England hiccupped once against his lips before he kissed back in need.

America opened England's lips and took control, dominating England. England knew what he was doing and he submitted to him. He was proving to England he was a man. He was proving he was stronger. England couldn't fight him. England couldn't beat him. Not this time.

His hands ran under England's shirt as the two moved quickly to remove each other's clothing. It felt like their lips hadn't even separated at all as they pulled off the clothing separating them. England's body felt as if it was on fire as their skin met each other's. He had been waiting for this. He hadn't cherished that first time with Alfred enough. He would let America dominate him this once. He would let America love him.

Sweat formed between their bodies as hands roamed to new places –touching, caressing, and stroking. England arched into America's palm as his fingers stroked his member. "Ah…!" He gasped, withering. "Yes…!" America's fingers slipped further down to probe England's hole. He pushed inside as he kissed England hungrily.

"England…You're tight…" He murmured, leaving his lips to lick the sweat from the other man's neck. England clenched around the invading fingers before relaxing as he felt his spot touched and rubbed against. He gripped the blanket with both hands, arching a little again with a gasp.

"No…more! I need you!" Fuck, England had waited years for this. Finally America was giving it to him. He looked at America through half-lidded lusty green eyes. America moaned at the sight and kissed him as he positioned himself. England opened him mouth to protest –he wasn't coated at all!- but America swallowed his protest and pushed into him. England's eyes widened in pain and cried out, tears springing from his eyes. America didn't stop, however, and thrust in fully as England screamed out. But America covered England's mouth before he could alert the rest of the crew.

England gazed at America with tears running from his eyes in confusion. Why was America hurting him again? America kissed his forehead and murmured his name in pleasure as England's ass clenched from the pain. "Can you feel me, England?" He asked. "How big I am? How grown I am? What I've become?" He pulled back and thrusted back into him, causing England to arch in pain and more tears to leave him."Look at me." He thrusted again. "I'm not a child anymore. I'm America. I'm the United States of America. I'm Alfred F. Jones. I'm an independent country." He pulled his hand away, moving in and out of England after each declaration. England sobbed in a mixture of pain and pleasure. "I've won. I'm dominating you." America leaned into his face and pressed their foreheads together, his eyes softening along with his voice so it sounded warm. "I'm inside of you, England." He whispered, pausing in his thrusting and wiggling against England's prostate, sending sparks of pleasure through the man. "Can you feel me? You can't get me out now. You're mine forever." He waited until their eyes connected. "I love you."

England broke down and wrapped his arms around America's neck and kissed him hard. America kissed him back passionately, all earlier roughness and anger he had shown gone. England could feel his love. He could feel its warmth burning and healing him. He could feel in warming him inside and he couldn't help his tears of joy. America was here. This was America. He hadn't lost him. He was right here with him kissing him, loving him, and touching him. "America." He called. America picked up his pace again, plunging into him again and again. "America. America. America. America!" England called again and again. "I love you!" He felt America falter for a moment before their mouths reconnected in a heated kiss, America pounding into him. England kissed back the best he could before he had to pull away for air as his prostate was hit repeatedly.

He cried out America's name into the air as his orgasm built quickly. He couldn't believe the feeling. Sex was different when love was involved. How curious. Who knew? England groped at America's back for a hold but found nothing but muscle and his nails dug into the man's back as England's body tightened and tensed before finally releasing it all at once with a scream of joy that was muffled by America's kiss. Wave after wave of pleasure coursed and rushed out of him that left him shivering. He had just finished his orgasm when he felt America come inside of him, filling him to the point he was overfilled.

England's arms dropped uselessly to his sides, exhausted physically and emotionally. America's arms trembled as they supported his satiated body and England gazed up into his face. His hair stuck to him in various places on his face from sweat and his eyes glittered. America gazed at him. "Are you…can you say it again?"

England raised an eyebrow. "Say what again?"

"'I love you'. Can you say again?"

England blushed, embarrassed, but he didn't want to spoil the good mood. "I love you." He said a little lowly.

"Do you…really mean it, England? Like, honestly?" America asked him hopefully.

"…Yes. Honest, my dear." America hugged him tightly and kissed him heated before laughing cheerfully.

"Yay!" He whispered. England could sense that he was going to pass out soon. He shifted awkwardly and hugged him back, relieved to be back in those arms to fall asleep in them. But before he could fall asleep he asked,

"Can you please pull out of me now?"

* * *

**A/N: And so that's resolved. Now to get started on the 'other half' of the story. :)**

**REVIEW! Review like the wind, my lovelies!**


	8. Chapter 8

Arthur pressed his back against the wall in fear and confusion at the noise erupting around him. His ears were still ringing from the earlier 'pop' that he had heard but now that it was fading, Arthur could fully take in the sight around him. People were everywhere. Arthur looked up and found that he was pressed against a building, but the building was higher and taller than any tree he had ever seen before. He stood between two of these buildings surrounded by metal contraptions that he feared to touch and that smelt bad. He felt like cowering. He was afraid to leave this alleyway because of the monsters roaring past people at high speeds on some type of rocky earth. The other humans didn't seem disturbed by it one bit!

"Where the bloody hell _am_ I?" Arthur whispered, kneeling and covering his head as he once did when he was a child. He had to think. He had to recall how he'd arrived there. _Oh that's right._ He remembered. It had been about three days of being on the ship going back to England's home after the American Revolution. America had once again taken up the duty of a worker on the ship –but because there were new men he had to restart his relations with them but they weren't pirates so it wasn't as difficult and a flailing wasn't needed- but he slept in the same room as England. If anybody saw the resemblance between Alfred and America, they didn't say it. They also didn't say anything about Alfred and Arthur sleeping in the same room.

Arthur had just been getting ready for sleep while Alfred had been gathering all of his things. Arthur already knew the reason for this. Alfred was a messy person so every night he needed to re-gather his things in case he one day went back into the future. Arthur hated thinking about it. Arthur had just stripped down to his undergarments when the hair on the back of his neck spiked up. It felt like an electrical current was passing through the room that had the same feeling as if lightning struck the ground nearby. Arthur turned swiftly and saw Alfred glowing and grabbing his things before turning to Arthur and smiling sadly.

"Looks like I'm heading home, Artie." He stated. Arthur didn't hesitate and ran towards him. No. He wouldn't allow Alfred to leave. Not yet. He needed him. He wanted him more than the future wanted Alfred. He wouldn't give him up. Not when he just got him back. "No, Arthur, don't-" Alfred tried to warn but Arthur latched onto the sleeve of Alfred's jacket. His body tingled and he gasped before suddenly the world around him disappeared. His hand automatically clenched around the fabric of the sleeve, holding on for dear life. Arthur couldn't even open his eyes as he felt like his body was being stretched and then shoved together before being stretched again. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. And then suddenly there was a loud 'POP' and Arthur was flung from Alfred and hit the ground. Everything went black as he passed out for a moment and then he opened his eyes with his ears ringing and discovered this new world.

Arthur trembled and continued to sit there in a ball unmoving. If he stayed there he would wait until things calmed down. He would wait there until nightfall and then he would run. Surely these creatures and all of these people would be asleep by then? He chanced a look at the sky. It was midday. It was nowhere close to nightfall. Arthur ducked his head again. Where the devil was America at and why wasn't he there? Was this a part of the 'time travel'? Or had Arthur ended up in another time period all together? Fuck, how was he supposed to go home? An England in the future cannot exist without an England in the past!

"Artie! There you are!" Arthur's head shot up as arms encircled him. His body stiffened before relaxing at the familiar warmth and sound of Alfred's voice. He could've cried. "Goddammit, Arthur!" He looked up at Alfred, who was glaring at him. "Why the hell did you grab me? Now you're here too! Shit, I don't know the consequences of this! What if you changed the future? Oh crap, oh shit, oh damn!" Alfred was freaking out. Arthur only stared at him until the man calmed down and took a deep breath, turning his head to look out at the monsters. He was silent for a long period of time before he let out a breath and turned back to face Arthur, his eyes softer. "I don't _feel_ any change but we never know. We're in New York City right now so we should head to my apartment. I'll call Tony from there."

"W-We're in _New York_?" Arthur asked, shocked. This devilish place was that port town from all those years ago? Arthur's head spun.

"Yeah, look, have culture shock later. We gotta get to my apartment first." Alfred removed his jacket and told Arthur to put it on and zip it up. At least Arthur was somewhat covered from his weird clothing. Alfred then helped Arthur to his feet and led him out of the alleyway. Arthur stared at the world around him and saw Alfred approaching a bright yellow one. Arthur struggled. "Stop it, Artie! Don't worry! It won't hurt you!"

"I-It's…what _is _that thing?" He demanded.

"It's the automobile I told you about! You know, the horseless carriage?" Arthur paused, recalling Alfred telling him about such things. It still made him nervous but he nodded. Alfred leaned down and tapped on the window. The window dropped on its own –shocking Arthur once again- and a man leaned out of it.

"Yeah?"

"Hey, you on duty?" Alfred asked.

"I'm on a break."

"I'll pay you twenty dollars to get off your break." Alfred offered some of his strange paper currency to the man. The man raised an eyebrow but took it.

"Get in."

"Thanks, dude!" Alfred opened the backdoor and climbed inside before motioning Arthur in. The man followed his example cautiously and sat down in the seat. Alfred leaned over him and grabbed some kind of band before pulling it across Arthur's chest and putting it into something that clicked. "For safety." Alfred explained quietly before pulling his own band over himself. He told the driver some kind of address and the vehicle began to move. Arthur gripped onto the seat in fear at the sudden music coming from nowhere and the way that the driver was driving among many other automobiles of different colors, sizes, and shapes. Alfred grabbed Arthur's hand. "Relax." He murmured with a smile. "Everything's fine!"

"If you say so." Arthur didn't believe him but stared out of the window. For a long time everyone was silent before Alfred struck up a conversation with the driver. Arthur didn't understand this 'football' or 'basketball' or all of the other things that they chatted about so Arthur just looked at the world passing by. He saw trees and grass but everything was so grey here. None of it looked natural or what he was used to. The air was thick and slightly difficult to breathe. It reminded him a bit of London, but it was much worse. This was what New York had become? What did England's country look like now? Was the whole world like this? Why was it like this? England didn't know how to feel about this time period.

Eventually the vehicle came to a complete stop and Alfred took off the belt. Arthur had no idea how to do it so Alfred did that for him as well before Alfred paid the driver and the two got out. Arthur looked up. It was once again a tall building. He paled. "You….you live here?" He asked. Alfred looked at him and led him inside, holding his hand.

"Yeah, but only a part of it. Lots of people live here."

Arthur blushed. "Alfred, we can't be seen holding hands! We'll be attacked!" Arthur remembered a time when being with another man in the way that America and England were would give allowance for one to attack them.

Alfred grinned. "Don't worry about it! It doesn't matter here! Lots of people do this!" His hand tightened around Arthur's reassuringly before he led Arthur into a tiny room. Arthur looked up and saw himself reflected from the ceiling. He gaped a little in surprise at it when suddenly the room shook and started moving. He let out a loud yelp and clung to America and America hugged him back laughing. "You're so cute!" He said. Arthur frowned at the term but refused to release Alfred until the box they were in stopped. The doors opened –shocking Arthur- before Alfred led Arthur by the hand down a hallway.

They reached a door and Alfred pulled out a set of keys before he unlocked the door and opened it, leading Arthur inside. The place appeared to be a house within a house. The living room took up much of the space in front of him with a large and wide window taking up most of the wall on the left. In the upper left-hand corner of the apartment was a kitchen and Arthur spotted a few doors. There was a couch and table for eating at as well as bookshelves. The place appeared rather lived-in considering it was a bit messy.

"Welcome to my home, England!" America said cheerfully and stepped inside, taking off his shoes and walking over to some type of machine. England was barefoot and so walked around the home in amazement, not recognizing many things and touching others. He didn't know what everything did but he was as scared as he was fascinated by it. Perhaps even more so scared. This change was too much. He liked his previous lifestyle. He heard Alfred talking seemingly to himself for a few moments before he walked over to Arthur and wrapped his arms around his waist. "So hey. Tony'll be here in a little while. Wanna take a shower?"

"Shower?" Arthur questioned.

"Bath, whatever."

"Oh…alright, I suppose." Arthur agreed and Alfred led him through a door into a strange room. The floor was solid and slippery with a type of stone he didn't know of. And the bathtub basin was made of a strange stone as well with metal contraptions sticking from it. It also had various bottles in it. Alfred leaned over and turned a knob and water started flowing. Arthur gasped and jumped back in shock. Alfred laughed at his reaction and kept touching the water to check its temperature. "Wh-Where is the water coming from?" Arthur demanded, baffled and terrified of this sorcery.

"Pipes, Artie! Don't worry about it! You'll eventually know about this type of technology!" Alfred assured him and finally began stripping. Arthur followed his example, leaving the clothes on the ground. Alfred grinned at him and stepped into a basin and held out a hand. Arthur took it and stepped into the water as well. He was startled to discover it already warm. Without any preparation either! He was amazed. Alfred pulled a cloth to separate the tub from the rest of the room and pulled on something and suddenly a bad waterfall fell on them, startling him.

"Amazing." Arthur said with his eyes wide. Alfred chuckled and hugged him close, kissing his neck. Arthur felt his skin flush and he turned his head to meet America's next kiss. Alfred's hand slid up Arthur's torso, slick with water, to pinch his nipple. Arthur gasped. "No! What are you doing?"

"Shower sex?" America suggested, smiling confused.

England blushed. What? Sex right there? "A-America, I don't think that's a good idea. What of when your guest arrives?"

"Dunno." America murmured and kissed England again, his hand dipping down to cup England. England arched away from the hand but he moved further into America's grasp. England closed his eyes and felt America's tongue opening his mouth. He moaned softly as his hand began stroking him, bringing England to life.

"Stop it, America…" England panted, turning his head away. "I need to wash…"

"Your body wants it!" America sing-songed. England shot him a glare. He knew his body would always respond to America's touches.

"Enough." England broke free of him and tilted his head down to douse his hair. "Let us finish, America."

America groaned softly, disappointed. "Alright." He gave in. "But I wanna continue later!"

"Perhaps." England replied noncommittally.

* * *

England had to borrow America's clothing and wear his strange undergarments. They were rather large on him and he had to use a belt to hold them up. The material was quite a bit soft and smoother than what England was used to. He liked them.

While they were waiting for this 'Tony' ("Jeez, that jerk's really taking his time!" Alfred complained) Arthur was introduced to new technology. He was shown these "photos" that Alfred had mentioned before along with "shows" on the "television". Arthur was rather amazed. There were people in a box! How was it possible? It was rather curious. And scary. But Alfred assured him the people weren't trapped in there.

Alfred also cooked for them and Arthur nearly moaned at the exotic taste of the food. He should've let Alfred cook more. And these foods were completely different than what he was used to. He wanted to ask how to make them, but Alfred refused to tell him. He said it was a futuristic secret to which Arthur gave up.

All of these new things were making Arthur's head spin. He tried desperately to keep up with all of Alfred's explanations, but inside he was beginning to panic. It was too much. Too much was happening around him at once. The television was on. The "radio" was on. There was no fire and yet there was light in the room even as the sun was setting. Water appeared from nowhere. They were far too high up for Arthur's stomach to handle. He couldn't understand. Arthur began to understand he was experiencing culture shock. And he was experiencing it badly.

In the middle of this, there was a knock on the door. "Oh, that has to be Tony!" America said and hopped off of the couch and past Arthur who was exploring the light switch near the door. Alfred opened it and there in the doorway stood a bug-eyed, grey, bald…thing. Arthur stared at the short creature. The creature stared back at him. "Tony! There you are bud-" Alfred didn't get a chance to finish as Arthur screamed, causing the other man to jump. It was too much.

Arthur passed out.

* * *

**A/N: Pfft, just gonna end it there. So England's in the future now. Where am I heading with this, do you think~? Review!**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Hello! Sorry it's taken me so long. School's started up for me this week and I'm unsure when I can update. I will try to do so every weekend if not before. I want it to be each weekend and I will work to do so.**

**Anyway, I finally got that Tumblr account. OTL However, I'm not experienced at it. I don't know how to decorate it or any such thing as that. So I will be posting my stories on there now too and also random pictures I like. You can follow me. It's the same name .com or something like that. I have the same username. If people can give me hints (in a PM) on how to work my tumblr, I'd love the help! XD **

**For the sake of things, England is the future England and Arthur is the past one. So people won't become confused. I know a lot of people wanted to see the Englands meet and I assure you that I had already planned to do so. Expect confrontation. :D Hahaha**

* * *

Waking up was a struggle for Arthur as a fog had to clear from his head. He had no memory of dreaming at all or, for that matter, falling asleep. He just recalled suddenly awakening and sitting up in bed. But although his body was awake, his mind was not. It spun fast and Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and covered his face with his hands as he waited for the world to stop spinning. Finally his mind cleared and he dropped his hands slowly.

The room he was in was unfamiliar. He wasn't on a ship or in any house that he could recognize. The walls were –through the dim light filtering into the room via the window- a pale blue with plush flooring. It appeared to be red animal fur, but it didn't appear as soft as that. On the walls were various tapestries of people and strange articles on them in bright colours. Arthur noticed a dresser and a door opposite of him. He looked down. His body was covered with a blanket made of soft material and the bed was heavenly. Never before had Arthur slept on something so comfortable. It was firm but soft. And the pillows were even softer, although they cover they had on them were strangely patterned.

He curled down into the covers and closed his eyes to absorb the feel of them. His nose was pleasantly assaulted with a familiar musk. He recognized America's scent and gave a soft sigh. The scent was comforting. He was in America's bed, he realized. This must be his room.

Vaguely Arthur's ears picked up on some sounds. It sounded like two people conversing. He focused more on it and recognized America's voice. It was easy to recognize. However, there was another familiar voice. It sounded strange to his ears and with a start he realized who it was. He sat up swiftly and clamoured quickly but silently off of the bed. He approached the door and opened it a little to peer out. In the living room he didn't spot anyone but heard movement.

"America, I swear you are becoming lazier every year!" Arthur spotted America stomp out and into the view of the door, appearing annoyed but hiding it somewhat well. He was trying to look carefree but Arthur saw through it.

"Jeez, will you stop nagging me?" America complained as his companion joined him, getting close enough to America to agitate the younger nation but far enough away to be slightly impersonal. Arthur couldn't help but stare as he gazed at his older self. Right away he noticed an age difference. While Arthur himself was about physically eighteen of nineteen, this other England appeared to be close to his mid-twenties or a little younger than that. England hadn't changed very much except in the eyes. He appeared grumpier and the annoyance clearly written across his face was a definite sign to it. Arthur wondered what happened to age him so –more in the mental way than the physical way.

"No, I will not!" England scowled, glaring at the annoyed America. "You've been absent for a week and you still haven't sent me the confirmation to that document! I was forced to come to this place because of your negligence! And then I find out you're in New York? Shouldn't you be in Washington?"

"So I wanted to get away from there and relax in New York! Give me a break, old man! You're not my mom!" America argued back.

"I may not be, but I feel like I am sometimes! God, why couldn't anything I taught you stick into your head? Work comes before play!" Arthur felt vaguely amused by this fact because he himself had slacked off from his work to spend time with the two Americas. Oh well.

"Blah blah blah. Seriously, I don't care. I'll get it done, okay?" America moved to head towards something on the table when his eye caught Arthur's peeking one. His eyes widened slightly and he sent him a look that said not to expose himself. America dug on the table and picked up a paper and looked at it in slight surprise. "Hey, what'dya know? It's already done!" He turned to England and handed him the paper. England scanned it over and tried not to appear surprised.

"Very well, I suppose you have. And the other papers?" England folded his arms over his chest. America gave a frustrated growl and Arthur shifted behind the door. America's eyes snapped to him and Arthur smirked. America wanted to stay there? When Arthur could easily confront his elder self? He could see what America had meant by England supposedly hating him. Arthur –in his elder self's position- would have praised America for getting his work done and thank him. This England appeared unwilling to express any happiness at this fact. It was as if he was _trying_ to pick a fight. Arthur would not stand for it. And America seemed to have realized this by slight shocked look he developed.

England frowned deeper, seeing America distracted. "What are you looking at?" He demanded and looked towards the bedroom door too just as two things happened. Arthur threw open the bedroom door and America jumped between the two Englands.

"Nothing!" He cried but it was too late. Arthur shoved America out of the way to make his presence known to his elder self, frowning as well. England's eyes widened in pure astonishment. This was no doubt the last thing he had expected. Arthur couldn't blame him.

"Wha…What is this, America!" England turned to confront America who slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand and ran his fingers in a worried way into his hair.

"Um…" America started and hesitated. Arthur decided to take over.

"I'm you, quite obviously." He stated, placing his hands on his hips. "However, I'm not the same 'you'. I'm from the past." England didn't appear like he believed him.

"Impossible." He denied and reached forward to touch Arthur to check if he was real.

"Don't touch me/him!" Both Arthur and America yelled as Arthur jerked away from the hand and America grabbed England to yank him back.

England spluttered in surprise. "Why not?" He demanded, furious at being yanked.

"Jeez, England! You watch Doctor Who! You know what happens! Paradoxes!" America said. England paused, recalling this.

"But it's impossible! He _can't_ be me! Time travel doesn't exist for humanity yet!" Arthur wondered why he had worded it that way and what this supposed "Doctor Who" was.

"But it really is you!" America said. "He's you from the seventeen-hundreds!" England and Arthur stared at each other. Arthur knew that he was searching for signs of the truth. Apparently he found them. The age of Arthur's physical body should've been able to give it away.

"Explain, America. Now." England jerked himself out of America's grip and straightened his clothing. Arthur could feel his tolerance quickly waning. How dare this man treat his America like that? He moved around this England carefully to stand near America, shifting his trousers onto his form better as they slipped.

America didn't seem to mind the movement but England took notice. America shrugged. "Tony had a time machine-" He began to explain and England face dead-panned.

"Of course. _Him._ I should've known it was your alien friend." England stated.

"He's not an alien!" America denied. England rolled his eyes and waited for him to continue. "Anyway, I tried to use it and kind of was shot back in time. Spent time with this England," he pointed to Arthur, "and then was suddenly taken back but he was touching me at that moment and he was pulled with me."

"And why hasn't he been returned?" England demanded angrily. "Do you realize just how badly you could destroy the time-space continuum? How it is even possible for him to be here, I don't understand! I'm surprised the bloody Doctor himself hasn't shown up!"

America appeared slightly annoyed but also he seemed to see the truth in this. "I couldn't! I called Tony over a while ago-" America halted suddenly and turned to Arthur, "oh, by the way you were asleep for a while. Tony already left. Jeez, you just passed right out!" America laughed. Arthur was unamused.

"I hadn't been prepared to see a creature such as that, America. A little warning would have been sufficient." He grumbled slightly. "Tony" had been the last thing to tumble the already-beginning-to-panic Arthur over the edge. It had been all too much to take in at once. America was such a strange person.

America just laughed again. "Culture shock hit you like a bus!" Arthur glared, not knowing what this "bus" was and not caring.

England cleared his throat loudly to draw back their attentions. "_Focus_, America. What happened with your friend?"

"Oh, that. Well Tony said that the trip there and back had fried his machine and he has to fix it now. Hahaha, I got an earful from him! He says this planet doesn't have the right supplies to fix it so he has to go home to get them! Jeez, he's such a freaky dude! Gotta love him!" Neither England nor Arthur looked nearly as pleased. But Arthur didn't mind. He didn't mind staying with America longer. It was better than going home at the moment to a world where currently America couldn't stand him. He wanted his fill of his darling before he left.

"Lovely. So the Lord knows when he'll be back and have it fixed." England growled.

"Nah, he said a couple of weeks. Won't be too long!" America assured the two.

"America, do you not understand how bad this is?"

"Of course I do! But I'm not worried! I mean, I spent a lot of time in the past and didn't really change anything!" Arthur mentally disagreed. America had changed something. He had changed Arthur. Arthur promised himself that he would love America when he went back. Anytime the man showed hints of loving him, he would accept him.

England placed his face in his hand, exasperated and with a loud sigh he gave up. Arthur turned to America. "America, I've been asleep for a while. It's long past supper."

"Oh! Right, I had been about ready to cook dinner when England…" he hesitated and pointed to the elder England, "that one…came over."

It was Arthur's turn to become a little exasperated. "Call me Arthur and call him England. It will be easier."

"That works!" America gave him a relieved smile. Arthur nodded once.

"Well sorry I disturbed you from your _McDonald's._" England said scornfully. Arthur didn't know what this "McDonald's" was but apparently his elder self didn't care for it.

America puffed out his cheeks at him. "I was actually going to cook something but now that you mention it, McDonald's sounds great! I haven't had it in, like, decades or something. Lost track."

"You're close, love." Arthur told him, recalling the time spent apart as he shifted his trousers up again tactfully.

England looked between the two of them with slightly narrowed eyes. "How long were you in the past?" He asked.

"Long time. Anyway, Artie!" America turned to Arthur with a smile. "You okay with McDonald's? It's food after all. Probably better than what you've eaten in a while considering…." He trailed off but Arthur understood. English rations certainly weren't the best. He was wary of trying whatever his future self disapproved of, but he didn't mind trying American food.

"I don't mind."

"Okay! I'll order for us!" He turned to England now. "You want anything?" His voice was distinctly less cheerful but still happy. England twitched.

"I suppose I'll take some, but only because I don't have another choice. I doubt you have anything good here." England turned away. America made a face at him that the man couldn't see and quickly turned to Arthur again to give him a peck on the lips.

"I'll be back in a little while, okay? Try not to pass out Artie!" Arthur turned pink, surprised by the sudden kiss, but scowled and pushed him some towards the door.

"Hurry, then! I'm famished!" America nodded and soon left. Arthur immediately turned to England and England turned to Arthur. They gazed at each other with ranging emotions. Arthur looked at his older counterpart with a chilling glare. England appeared faintly confused but mostly defensive.

"What?" He finally demanded after a moment.

"America has told me about you." Arthur stated and moved well around his other self in order to move to the refrigerator. He peered inside of it and recalled earlier that America said he could drink anything in there. He also recalled that pretty much all of it wasn't alcoholic. He was curious to try each and read a container. _Milk?_ He thought. _From a cow?_ He pulled it out and went to pour himself a cup.

"So America has been telling you of the future?" The disdain in his voice was evident. It made Arthur a little angrier.

"Bits of it, yes." Arthur agreed and poured his cup before replacing it. He sipped from it. It was cold and he enjoyed the milk. Yes, it was cow milk. He liked it. He finally turned to England again. "But I was referring to you in specific. And your relationship with him."

England looked suspicious. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that you seem to hate him."

England spluttered a little before his face cleared. "Why do you ask?"

"Why?" He demanded, approaching his elder self but not close enough to touch him. He was just close enough to appear threatening, although England was a taller. "What has he done that you hate him?"

England scowled. "I have every right to dislike him for what he's done to me! Obviously you don't know yet-"

"No, I do know. About the American Revolution. I had just finished going through with it." Arthur interrupted, looking bored. England was stunned. "Is that your only excuse? Pathetic."

He recovered, furious. "You went through it as well! How are you not angry? How are you _betrayed_?"

"America warned me ahead of time that he would revolt." Arthur stated. "And told me not to try to stop him. I listened to him."

England looked as if he had been slapped in the face. "You…why didn't you stop him!" He demanded, raging.

"Why would I?" Arthur looked at him coolly. "He would've only tried again. And I couldn't afford to oppress him any longer." Arthur again stepped closer and into England's face, meeting his glare. "Besides," he whispered, "America grew up fine without me." It hurt to say that. A part of him hadn't wanted to admit that America could survive without him. The wound was still too fresh.

"America is nothing but a stupid brat." England said in a hushed voice, his anger bubbling under the surface. Arthur knew if not for the fact that they both couldn't touch each other, they would have probably already gotten into a fist-fight.

Arthur clenched his fist. "He's better than what we would have turned him into if I had stopped him."

"I highly doubt that."

"And that, sir, is where our opinions differ." Arthur stepped away from his older self. With a start he realized that an insanely large wave of pity had washed over him for this other man. This England would never be able to be loved by America in the same way that Arthur was. Not with his mind set that America should never have left him. He pitied this Arthur. He would never know America's love.

"It appears so." England agreed and turned before moving over to the couch. Arthur stayed standing before he moved back into the kitchen to lean against the counter. There he finished his drink of milk slowly and heard the television –that made him jump a tiny bit- turn on. Softly he murmured to himself,

"What an old fool you've become, England."


	10. Chapter 10

America –the dense nation he is- surprisingly sensed the atmosphere when he had come home with the meals and sensed the tension between the two England. England himself was glad. He was furious at his younger self. How _dare_ he let America leave without any kind of fight! Did he even try to stop him? Did the American Revolutionary War even happen to him? Why did England himself have no memories of an older America showing up in the past? How come he didn't remember being warned? Was history not changed yet?

On top of that, he saw there was something between this Arthur and America. America appeared so much…cheerful when talking to Arthur. Towards England he acted like a teenager being forced to avert his attention from his friend to his mother. England hated it. He hated seeing America happier with his younger self. Why was he treated with such hostility and disobedience?

He was silent as the two of them talked. It was mostly America explaining the world around them and all about New York. He told him of new food products and technology. Arthur nodded his head in wonder. England felt sick to his stomach. Where was this other England's pride? It was gone for sure. He was a dog on a leash to America. How vile. He didn't understand why it was like this.

"America," He interrupted. America turned to him with politeness, but England could see the undertone of reluctance to do so. England resisted telling him off. "I wish to spend the night. I haven't the money for a hotel room, you see, and I need to make sure you do your work."

America groaned. "Yeah, sure. You can stay. But can't I do my work another time?" He whined. America was always whining. Why did he constantly whine? He was an adult, wasn't he? England supposed not. Arthur looked unhappy at the thought of England staying.

"No, you must." England stated. "I need it by the time I go back to my home."

America made a face. "There're only two rooms, though." England opened his mouth to suggest sleeping arrangements, but Arthur interrupted,

"I suppose it won't be a problem if I stay in your room." He said with a shrug.

"That's cool, then." Alfred agreed. England stood up and walked –he tried not to storm- into the room right next to Alfred's bedroom and closed the door. There he fumed. He was furious. He felt like Arthur and America were like two teenage girls. He felt, admittedly, left out. They had a secret between them. That secret made Arthur closer to America than England. But how was that possible? What were they hiding? And why couldn't England share it?

* * *

That night England lay in his bed trying to sleep but his mind was flying every which way. He didn't even like America. The boy had hurt him too much. He disliked him. But what Arthur had said stuck with him. America had told Arthur that England hated him. But that wasn't true. It was completely untrue.

England was hurt. It was a wound that had festered and hadn't healed properly. That's why he disliked America. He had been the one to give him that wound. He had coldly and mercilessly broken off their relationship prematurely. England hadn't been ready to let him go. He had barely been an older brother to America. He hadn't had the time to cherish it. He hadn't had the time to cherish America. That's what he wanted to cherish, though. He had wanted to cherish America. He was his precious little brother.

And yet why did Arthur say that? Why did Arthur say that America had told him that England hated him? Did that mean England "hating" America upset the younger nation? Did America want to fix things between them? It was late, though. Why would it be so late? Why wouldn't America apologize beforehand? Why wait until now? And on top of that, second-handedly. He had heard it…well…from himself.

He thumped his bed furiously. "What the hell." He murmured to himself and rolled over to close his eyes. He would ask America about it tomorrow.

Soon after he tried to sleep, however, he heard voices. They were faint, though, but they were loud enough that Arthur couldn't fall asleep that well with them. He stood up and moved towards the door but hesitated. He could eavesdrop. The wall between the rooms was thin. So he pressed his ear to the wall. He took a moment to decipher what they were saying but after concentrating he got it.

"Hey, Artie, he might still be awake." He heard America say somewhat lowly. Arthur could hear bed squeaking a bit with movement. He frowned.

"He went to be earlier. Knowing myself, I would be asleep by this point in time." Arthur's voice was more muffled than America's. He also sounded distracted.

America grunted. "That's true…ha…You always fell asleep fast." His voice sounded breathier. England frowned more and pressed his ear closer, trying to decide what they could possibly be doing.

"Don't lie."

"It's true thou-oh!" England jumped at the sound as he heard a soft moan. "Ah…jeez, I didn't expect you to…nng…" Arthur didn't respond. A few moments later there was a throatier moan. "Yeah….like that…Arthur…!" England's face flushed and he pulled away from the wall. He wasn't dim. He knew those sounds. Was he misinterpreting it, though? Surely he was! They could never be…

England heard America gasp before Arthur spoke. "You've had your fun. My turn, yes?"

"Alright, sure. But we gotta keep it down." England's eyes widened more as the obvious sound of kissing filled the air. He could hear the slick sounds coming from them. He couldn't believe it. So that's what it was. America and Arthur were in a sexual relationship. The moans couldn't be mistaken for anything else. That's what the secret between the two were.

How had that even happened? How could America and England's past self get together? Why would it even be allowed? Why would either of them even accept? The sexual tension wasn't even between England and America! England had been sure that America disliked him! Just a few minutes ago he had come to terms with the fact that perhaps America wanted to be friends!

"Ah god, England!" England jumped as he heard his name called, perhaps too loud. England could feel the blood rushing to his face. And then the blood rushed elsewhere as a thought occurred to him.

"Oh my god, America is bottoming." He whispered to himself, shocked. He hadn't expected that. He was sure America had too much pride to do so but then again Arthur's pride was strong too…He shook his head. Why was he even thinking about this?

He quickly went into his bed and covered his ears with his pillow. Even so he could feel the slight vibrations as the bed in the other room hit the wall every now and again. England didn't know whether to feel sick or not and worked to get the image of Arthur pounding America into the bed and the pleasured face America would surely have as he cried out England's name and-

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut and tried to will away his sudden erection. Goddamn them.

Arthur was having a wonderful morning. His body was sexually satiated from having sex with America last night and now he was having delicious food for breakfast. To top it all off, the England across from him looked exhausted and confused. He couldn't help his slight pride in the fact. He had known that England would not be asleep at that time. That's why he had initiated sex. He wanted to prove to England what the man could've –_could_ he corrected himself for America was not his America- have.

Arthur had thought it over last night as America slept curled up against him. His arms were warm and Arthur had wondered exactly why England hadn't wanted this. Why was he holding onto the past like he was? It was utterly ridiculous. He should just let go. He was missing out. Eventually Arthur would leave. Would England step up and try to take America after Arthur left? If not, then why? He had to convince him. If this was his future, he was determined to make sure he and America were together. He would have to change England's mind to make sure they fell in love.

* * *

**A/N: Okay, this is pretty short. But I wanted to write it. :D**


	11. Chapter 11

Two days had passed since Arthur had arrived in the future with America. And in those two days, England had not left. He kept making excuses. Arthur knew why, of course. He was trying to get to the bottom of their relationship. But it was annoying. He hadn't realized that his older self was so…stubborn. He wasn't even looking at America twice in that way. It pissed him off. America was _right there_ and England would do nothing. Arthur was determined to change that.

The third night of being in the future, Arthur lay with America in the man's bedroom getting ready to sleep. America was curled up against Arthur's chest, his arms around his waist. Arthur had to move his head a bit so that Nantucket wouldn't brush his nose. They were silent for a long period of time. Only the sounds of the cars down on the streets below could be heard. But then America broke the silence.

"Hey Artie?" He whispered. Arthur grunted. He was partially asleep. America lifted his head to gaze at him. "England knows about us, doesn't he?"

Arthur's eyes started open. He looked at him. "When did you finally realize?"

"Yesterday. He's acting weird and trying to keep us away from each other." America sighed. Arthur sensed it wasn't so much out of exasperation as it was sadness. Arthur touched America's cheek, grabbing the man's attention.

"America, I'll make sure he falls in love with you." He promised. He pressed his forehead to his. "I won't leave until I know you won't be left alone." He whispered.

America laughed softly. "I'm never alone, Artie. Stop over-exaggerating."

"I'm not and you know it." Arthur stroked America's cheek and kissed him gently. America wouldn't admit it, but Arthur knew anyhow. The man was lonely. The one person he loved hated him. Arthur couldn't bear the thought of leaving if it meant his America would be sad. He closed his eyes. It somehow hurt him for to think of the other England having his America, but he forced the thought from his head. After all, he would somehow grow into that England. He didn't understand how he would grow to hate America like this England did, but at least he would ensure that the two would get together.

And that was all that he could really hope for.

The next morning Arthur woke up to leave America's embrace. The man was still fast asleep but Arthur was ready to wake up. He was used to waking up at this time. He dressed in some of America's smaller clothes and decided that he needed to get his own size before he left the room. England was already awake and the smell of breakfast cooking caught his attention. He looked over at the older nation.

"…Are you cooking for only yourself?" He asked, approaching him. He realized –knowing himself- that if he was ever going to convince his older self he would have to be pleasant.

England looked over at him and frowned. "Yes." He replied.

"Funny. I would have cooked for America."

"Yes, well he's your bloody boyfriend, now isn't he?" England snapped at him, glaring. Arthur bit back the retort he wanted to throw at him.

"I was referring to the fact that I cooked for America when he was a child."

England paused. "…So?"

"When did you start cooking only for yourself?" Arthur asked quietly.

"…When America left me." England replied, turning back to his food. It was turning brown.

"He's here now." Arthur murmured. "He's right in the bedroom. Why don't you cook for him now?"

"He hates my food anyway, so what does it matter!" England snapped. "All he'll do is complain!" Arthur frowned. Since when did America dislike his food? He recalled the child loving it.

"It's the thought that counts!" Arthur snapped back, annoyed.

"Just leave me the bloody fuck alone! He's your boyfriend so you cook for him!"

"Well if he's my boyfriend then he is yours as well!"

England froze and turned to face him, shocked. It was as if England had considered him and Arthur to be two different people. How ridiculous. "He's…not my boyfriend." England stated slowly.

"He is. You're my future. He's your future."

"You're wrong."

"I demand you tell me in what way I am incorrect." Arthur challenged, glaring. England didn't respond. He just continued to stare at him. That is until the food began to burn, causing England to curse and go back to it. Arthur didn't move from his spot, still waiting for a response when America entered the room.

"Oh my fuck, who let you into the kitchen!" He yelled and ran into the kitchen to snatch the pan with the burnt food and move it to the sink before it could catch fire. "You're going to burn the apartment down!"

England turned red. "I-I AM NOT! I was only distracted and so it burnt-"

"Dude, _never_ cook in my kitchens! I'll do all the cooking! After all, nobody wants to eat your food anyway."

"Nobody wants to eat your _grease_ either!"

America dumped the 'food' down into the trashcan and began cleaning the pan. "You love my cooking! You know that I'm a good cook but you never want to eat it!"

"I find your food disgusting." England scowled. America grinned at him.

"Then why do you like McDonald's so much?"

"I-I don't!"

Arthur watched the back and forth exchange between the two in a slight daze. It was strange. He felt as if he was watching from an outside perspective of him and America. The two went from bickering to playing with each other to bickering again. America would tease England and England would blush slightly and become defensive in a cute way before he said something to offend America to the point that the bickering started up again and the process repeated. It was such a simple process of talking.

And then Arthur realized that they were flirting. He could see it. He saw the twinkle of mischief in Alfred's eyes as he teased the elder nation before England would blush. But the look in his eyes told him that he enjoyed the banter. This was how his future self and America communicated, Arthur realized. It was painful to him. It was so obvious of the emotion there. If he hadn't known better, he would've said that England and America was an old married couple (not that men could get married, of course, unless it was different in this time period). How could England not see it? How could England not _want_ it? England obviously had feelings for America. All Arthur needed to do was drag them into the open.

He smirked. _Jealousy is always the way to inflame a man's heart._

* * *

"America." Arthur called later on in the evening. America was eating a gallon of ice cream on the couch while he was watching the box with people in it called 'television'. Arthur, like England, just called it the tellie, though. It was easier to remember. England was sitting in a reading chair reading over some notes from the last meeting in his country. Even though he was at America's (he kept telling the host nation that he was merely there because his boss had wanted him to come, not that he wanted to spend time with America and keep an eye on Arthur) he was still doing his work.

America didn't look up. "Yeah?"

Arthur sat down on the couch next to America and watched as he spooned some more ice cream into his mouth. "May I try?" He asked.

America paused and Arthur noticed England's head lift a little to subtly watch them. Good. That was just what he'd wanted. "Sure." America said and dug out a scoop. Arthur opened his mouth and America fed him the cold food. Arthur shivered in delight. It was rather sweet for his taste but it was still delicious. Still, he knew he couldn't have too much of it. It would upset his stomach. Nonetheless as America pulled spoon out he grabbed the nation's hand and licked the spoon clean slowly, using a show of him mouth and tongue. Arthur saw America's eyes widen and the flicker of lust that appeared in them. He also spotted a tensing of England's shoulders.

Finally Arthur released the nation and licked his lips. "A bit too sweet." He commented.

"Y-Yeah well, that's ice cream." America tried to keep his voice steady but it was clear in his voice that he had been aroused by the display. Arthur looked directly at England and saw the man trying to ignore them. Arthur frowned. He had to push it a step further.

"I suppose so. America," Arthur brushed America's fringe out of his face gently and smiled at him softly. "You have ice cream in your hair." He pretended to pull ice cream from America's hair and licked his finger to clean it. America visibly gulped. England was now directly looking at them, fire of anger in his eyes. Arthur thanked whatever god there was above that America still responded like a young man. It made his plan go a lot smoother. England was becoming jealous. _Poor fool doesn't even realize he loves America._ Arthur pitied his older self. If Arthur knew of his own flaw to let old grudges stand in the way of his emotions and better judgment than surely England did as well. It was a shame he didn't remember.

"Thanks, Artie." His voice was slightly lower. Arthur noticed only because he had heard America's 'sex voice' before. A stir ran through Arthur's loins. England must have somehow heard it as well. Arthur heard the crunch of paper being crumpled in a tight grip.

"I want a kiss." He murmured to America and moved the bucket of ice cream before climbing onto America's lap. He cupped Alfred's cheek and tilted his head to lean forward to kiss him.

"What are you doing?" America whispered and Arthur knew he was caught. He bit back a chuckle.

"Just trust me, love." He murmured back and kissed him. America did just that (or he just wanted to kiss him but either way-) and wrapped his arms around Arthur's waist as he returned the force of the kiss. Arthur could feel the slight hardness under against his leg where he was kneeling over America, his one knee tucked against the nation's lower regions. He grinded his knee against it a bit and America gasped faintly, arching some against. Arthur continued to grind his knee in slow but hard circles against America's crotch as their mouths battled heatedly and fast to see who would top in this round. America's hand ran into Arthur's hair to grip it as he hummed in appreciation. Arthur was about to respond to such treatment when he heard the snap of a book.

"That's_ enough_!" America and Arthur pulled away from each other to see England seething in fury. His face was red and his clenched fists trembled with rage. "Do not do such…_vulgar_ things in front of me! What kind of host are you, America!"

America didn't respond so Arthur opened his mouth. "It is America's house to do with how he pleases. Being that we are lovers, we are allowed to act in such a manner. And considering our current circumstances, you are his lover as well and not a guest. And so we can do this if we like and not be rude." Arthur smirked challengingly and pressed his face to America's a little as England froze. "There's no need for you to become so upset~"

"I am _not_ his lover! I refuse for you to think of me in such a way! There is a bedroom for you to do your disgusting deeds in so just go there!" England yelled.

Arthur glanced at America and the man looked at him. "Shall we continue, then?" He rolled his leg against America again and the man panted softly. "You're still quite hard. I couldn't leave you in such a condition…"

America nodded once. "Yeah…" He murmured breathlessly, shocking England. "Bedroom." Arthur climbed off of America and the younger nation rushed to the bedroom. Arthur took his sweet time walking there and paused in front of England.

"If you wanted to, you could replace me. You could go in there right now in my place." He teased. England only glared at him and so Arthur shrugged. "Your loss, then. He's ever such a good fuck." With that he entered the bedroom to find America waiting for him.

Once again, England didn't fall asleep easily that night.

* * *

**A/N: Holy shit, sorry that I'm so super late on this. My muse completely left me and I had no idea what I wanted to do for the longest time. So so so so so so so sorry! I'll try to work on it more! I hope this was okay! I'll work on Brother Complex and then come back to this, I promise! I didn't give up on my stories, I swear!**

But god it's so short...OTL

**REVIEW! **


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Warning, there will be extreme stuff in here. Jussayin'**

* * *

It was driving England insane. Seven days he had been living with America and Arthur. A week. And those two had had sex every night. _Every. Blasted. Night._ He couldn't stand it. He couldn't stand how Arthur was always all over America. The pirate captain would make a fool out of himself openly flirting and caressing America right in front of England. It made the older nation furious. He knew that Arthur was taunting him. It was obvious. He would peek over at England when he was whispering into America's ear or touching his arm. He would give that enraging smirk. All of it.

But the worst part was that America responded to all of Arthur's leads. When Arthur wanted a kiss, America gave it to him. They acted like a horny newlywed couple. It physically sickened England. But not in the same way that Arthur sickened him. He knew exactly what the feeling was. After all, he had felt it on more than one occasion when it came to America.

He was jealous. Deeply, horribly, undeniably jealous. It corroded his stomach and churned acid. His heart clenched painfully at the sight of the two of them touching each other. It was like watching some demented show that displayed all of your most hidden wants. Only it was unreachable to him. He couldn't touch America the same way. Not with Arthur there. And England knew that America didn't like this current him. Of course he wouldn't. England constantly yelled at America and scolded him. He disregarded America's attempts to 'hang out' and when they did all England did was complain. But England couldn't help himself. That was just who he was now.

England exited his bedroom feeling morose only to walk in on a scene he had hoped not to experience. America sat on the couch with Arthur between his legs mouthing the front of the American's loose pants. A very noticeable bulge made itself known under Arthur's skilled tongue as America clenched his eyes shut and gripped the couch. His face was red and slightly damp as he panted. England gulped, aroused and disgusted at the same time.

"Y-You two! Will you get the bloody fuck out of here?!" He cried, distressed and flustered. America's eyes snapped open and he turned a bit red, still having the decency to be embarrassed at being caught. Arthur, however, only lifted his head to gaze unabashed at England.

"Why should we?" He questioned.

"Because it's vile seeing you two like that!" England yelled.

America looked away sharply. England didn't comprehend why, though. Arthur rolled his eyes. "Are you upset because you're seeing yourself with him?"

"N-No!" England cried, bright red.

Arthur watched him for a moment before he turned to America. "Shall we continue in the bedroom?"

America didn't respond for a moment before he nodded. "Yeah. I'll meet you in there." He stood and hurried to the bedroom, shutting the door. England glared after him, burning with jealousy. Why wasn't America that compliant with him? Did he need to be aroused to get him to listen? His fists clenched. He wished that he could punch his younger self.

Arthur stood and walked towards England and asked with a low voice, "Why do you reject what you see so violently? You want what I have." England opened his mouth to deny it, but Arthur cut him off. "Don't try to lie. I see the truth in your eyes. Your eyes are my eyes in the end."

England wanted to fight back. He wanted to deny everything. But how could he? A week of fighting against his swirling emotions. And what was the point? He was fighting himself. Literally. It was a battle of wills. He was too tired. "…Why are you doing this?" He whispered.

Arthur appeared faintly relieved at England's acceptance. Finally he was making some progress. It had taken him a while and quite honestly his bottom was sore. He loved having sex with America but he was tired. "Because I want to ensure a future in which I have him. From what I have seen, you don't have America. You willingly don't take his offered hand. It's foolish. You don't see America like I do."

"That's a lie." England growled softly. He knew more about America than this younger England ever could!

"It's not." Arthur stated with a light glare. "You don't know America. You don't know Alfred. He's changed. He's so much more different than the one who was my younger brother." His voice was fierce, becoming angry at England's ignorance. He forced patience into himself and continued with a lower voice, "But he wants to show you that new side of him. He's offering himself. He has been for a while, from what he has told me. When will you accept his offer?"

England looked away, his throat tight and his heart pounding painfully. America was different? Yes, he knew that America was still as immature but at the same time he had seen America at war. He had seen him covered in blood and dirt and injured. But the nation had just continued on. England felt like he had fallen behind. Every step that America took was twice as long as England's. England tried to keep up. He could run faster to try to get to him but in the end he was always left behind. All he could see was America's broad back fading. And it made him desperate. He craved America but he couldn't even reach him.

And now Arthur was telling him that America was actually reaching for him? Preposterous. He would know if he was. America would've tried to tell him.

England never responded his breathing fast and his heart hurting. Arthur thought for a moment and then asked, "Why don't you go in there instead? Go see for yourself how he feels."

England's head shot up to look at him. "What? No! That's only sex!"

"It's not." Arthur said with determination. He glared seriously at England, his green eyes flashing dangerously. "I've had sex with many people. I know you have as well as we are the same. And never have I been touched in the way that America has touched me. No sex can compare to his. I can feel his love."

England shivered at Arthur's tone. The look in his eyes chilled him. Had England ever worn that look before? But he knew what it was. He had seen it in others' eyes. Arthur was in love with America. It was so plainly love. He could see how it warmed Arthur's features. He could see how it softened the brutal pirate nation's eyes. He could see the age melt off of his younger self's face.

And with a small start England realized he wanted to feel it. He wanted to feel what it was like to be loved in such a way. He wanted to be loved by America. "I-I'll go." He choked desperately. He needed to do this. Just once. He needed to see if what Arthur said was true. And he felt the only one he could really trust was himself.

Arthur nodded and began stripping. England understood that they were going to fool America. Arthur was saving England his pride. England stripped as well and the two switched clothing. When he was dressed he walked past Arthur and into the bedroom. Unwillingly he felt nervous as he spotted America sitting on the bed. His back rested against the headboard and his head turned to face England. He smiled and England's heart thudded at the sight.

"Hey, Artie. You and England talked for a long time, huh?" He asked. England slowly crawled onto the bed next to America.

"Yes." He said. America watched him for a moment and held out his hand. England took it and he was tugged lightly over so that he was in America's lap. He blushed slightly as he felt the tent poking at his bottom. He turned his head to face America and saw the nation gazing at him softly. England found that he couldn't look away.

"Mm, you two didn't get mad at each other again, did you?" He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to England's lips. The elder nation gasped slightly, a bit off-guard before he realized he couldn't fight back. He was pretending to be Arthur. Arthur had been with America multiple times. So he ignored the question and kissed back. America didn't push the question as their lips moved against each other. America's hands landed on England's hips to turn him some, moving England into a position where he was straddling America's lap. Their lips parted together –England was surprised that America was so in sync with him- and their tongues came out to twist around each other sensually. England moaned softly and tilted his head, his hands burying themselves into America's hair. America's hands slid down England's sides as their pace quickened slightly before they slid up the front of the nation's shirt.

England arched at the touches, feeling his skin tingle with pleasure. He pulled away from the kiss to gather some breath. He felt America panting against him, already heavily aroused. A part of England felt angry at Arthur for getting America so worked up. He had wanted to do it himself. The hands dipped around to England's back, running up it as the elder nation moved to suck on his neck. He felt America's hands suddenly stop and a finger rub a spot, causing England to pause in his actions. "America?" He whispered.

America took a shuddering breath and pulled back to look at England fully. His eyes scanned him. For a terrifying moment England thought he was caught. He couldn't let America know that he wasn't the younger Arthur. He couldn't let him believe he wanted to have sex with him. America's eyes glittered in the low light but he broke the contact and removed England's shirt easily, shoving him back onto the bed and kissing him passionately. England responded in turn, feeling his heart jump every time that he was kissed in such a way.

"England…!" America whispered. England froze, his breath catching.

"W-What? No, you're mistaken. I'm Arthur, love." He stroked America's cheek with a convincing smile. America blinked and then smiled back softly.

"I know you are. But I wanna call you England."

"Are you imagining my older self, then?" England was thrilled –unwillingly- at the thought.

America grinned now. "I don't need to. You're both England, after all. If the other's not here, then I can call you England either way." He kissed his nose, delighted.

England submitted. "Yes, you're right." He wrapped his arms around America's neck and kissed him fully. Their mouths opened at once together, but this time their kiss was slower. America led the sensual kiss, his body moving a little against him in time with his tongue caressing England's. England didn't know what to think. His eyes refused to stay open as his body heated up. He'd never been kissed in such a way. Always there was more lust behind it. But within America's hold Arthur felt almost no lust. He could tell that America was kissing him because he wanted to express his feelings. And England didn't need to think to know how the nation felt.

America pulled back and ran his hands over England's form, as if this was the first time exploring it as he marveled. England reached up and tugged America's shirt to remove it, leaving the nation's torso exposed to him. England had seen America shirtless many times before. Hell, he had bathed with him on occasion. Such things had to occur on warfronts and such. But never before had England seen America in this lighting. His chest was glistening slightly with the sheen of sweat from the light slipping through the blinds. The muscles rippled with each pant America made when England touched him. England gazed at the golden trail leading down into America's boxers, which poked slightly out from underneath of America's khaki cargo pants. England felt his cock twitch at the sight and he gulped thickly. This was actually happening.

"England…" America whispered and kissed his neck as he fingered the front of England's pants. With a gasp the elder nation realized just how hard he was. He hadn't even noticed. Was all of this really that exciting to his body? He was mystified by it. He hadn't even thought about being with America like this before (well, that wasn't completely true. He couldn't control some of his dreams, after all) but now here he was. Suddenly he wasn't being cupped anymore but actually fondled. He sat up quickly, America sitting up too as his cock was grabbed. When had his pants been pulled down? "What's wrong? Too fast?" America asked, suddenly worried. England wondered if America was this insecure with Arthur as well. Well, he supposed that it was rather charming in its own way.

"No…no, you only startled me is all." England said and wrapped his arms around America's neck and kissed him. He had to be confident. _America is my lover. I've shagged with him many times. He's my lover. My lover. My love-_ His thoughts were cut off as America began to stroke him causing a moan to erupt from England's lips into America's. He panted, feeling the blood course through his body as he tilted his head back, wiggling his hips and using his hands to push his pants and undergarments off. America kicked them off the side of the bed and worked at his own pants with one hand. England decided to help him so that the pace on his nether regions didn't slow. He managed to get the pants undone and with some help pushed them off of America's hips and down his legs and off.

America stood completely at attention, red and dripping. England shivered at the thought of what was going to be done with that soon. It was already decided by Arthur and America out in the living room who would be topping this round (damn, England should have waited) but he didn't completely mind. The thought of America filling him made him groan, becoming hornier than he already was.

America pushed them back down so that England was on his back again. America kissed him once. "Do you want me to finger you first?" He whispered against his lover's sweaty neck. England shook his head. He wanted the pain. He hadn't bottomed in a long time (close to fifty years if he was remembering correctly) but a bit of pain was a turn on for him. "Alright." America pulled away from him and England opened his eyes to sit up and watch as America crawled away and over to the dresser. He pulled out the lube and opened it to sit up on his knees and begin to coat himself, grumbling slightly at how cold the liquid was. England loved himself a nice pair of tits, but more than tits he loved a beautiful arse. And America had a beautiful arse. He growled lustfully at it. Why did this fucking nation have to be perfect physically in almost every way?

America looked over his shoulder at England, his eyes glossed over with desire, but even so England could see the joy in it. America didn't want to fuck for the pleasure. He looked sincerely happy to be here with England. It left England feeling a little surprised and jealous and sad. America came back over to him and lifted England's knees to crawl between them.

"Missionary position?" England found himself asking without any real forethought. America grinned and hid his face in England's neck, kissing his shoulder as he spread the British man's buttocks.

"I want to see your face while I make love to you, England." England's face turned bright red and he stuttered at the sweet words. He hadn't expected such a response. His heartstrings felt as if they were yanked pleasantly.

"You…you git." He breathed as he felt America's tip slowly press into him. He clenched his eyes shut and gripped America's back the best he could considering the sweat but managed a decent hold. America hesitated until England prompted him with a, "I'm fine. Move." He then pushed in quicker even as England's body fought back some he didn't stop until he was fully sheathed.

"Ah…!" America breathed in a half-moan. England clenched around him. He could feel America's muscles straining to not move. They trembled under his hands. His heart was pounding in his chest. He could hear the blood rushing in his ears. America was inside of him. He could feel the other man as deep as America could push himself in. England had expected himself to be disgusted –at least a little bit considering- but he couldn't bring himself to do so. He was relieved. He didn't know why but he felt that this had been coming for a long time. Finally it was here. "You're so tight, England." America chuckled. "It's like you've never had sex before."

"Belt up before I hit you." England threatened, a little annoyed by the comment. He couldn't help that it had been a long time. America ignored the threat and pulled back, testing. England didn't complain so America moved of his own accord. He set a rhythm quickly that England found he loved and hated. It drove him mad with need but at the same time he didn't want to speed up. America's thrusts were slow and hard but almost always hit England right where he needed it. The movements were brimming with emotion and England almost found himself crying as he panted America's name into the air. He could see what Arthur had meant. There was no way to describe how America touched him or kissed him or filled him. Every single thing America did seemed to whisper England's name. And it was not "Arthur" but truly "England". He couldn't take it and felt his end approaching so much faster than he wanted it to. But it couldn't be helped with America hitting his prostate so much. It felt too good.

"Speed up." He begged, pulling himself closer to America. He was pressed flat against the bed nearly bent into a u-shape as their lips met hastily and America began to pound into him. England cried out into America's mouth as he was invaded. He was close now. His end was rapidly approaching. And he could tell that America's was too. He could see it in the nation's face as they both absorbed the pleasure of connecting again and again. England's lips gasped America's name repeatedly. It seemed to be the only thing he could say anymore. All of the Queen's English had left him up until the coil in his stomach burst and he climaxed with a scream, clinging to his lover. White haze sparked in his vision and mind as his arms became lax and he collapsed. Fuck, it had been too long since he'd had sex period. His climax had felt amazing.

He watched tiredly as America continued to move in him a couple more times, staring each other in the eyes before America clenched England's hand in his own and gave a single sob of pleasure as he came. His thrusts slowed and eventually he stopped, half-collapsing on top of England. The elder nation was about to yell at him about being heavy when America sat up and kissed him. Again it was one of the slower sensual kisses that sent England's heart fluttering and begging for more even as America pulled out and away.

"I love you, England." America said his face red and glowing as he smiled. England's heart stopped and restarted again in overdrive. He'd thought that he would never hear those words come from America's lips directed at him ever again. Never had he guessed that he would and so willingly too. But the connotation behind it was dramatically different than the last time he had heard them. This was not brotherly love. This was the love of a lover. Someone who wanted to be together with you. And that made England fearful.

His hand trembled as he cupped America's cheek not sure of how to respond. "America…" He whispered and then hesitated. What did he want to say? He couldn't tell America that he loved him. But didn't Arthur always tell America that? Fury welled within him. Arthur had heard those beautiful words many times before England did. In a past that England didn't remember. He snapped himself out of his jealous thoughts and focused back on the American as the younger nation shifted a bit. England hesitated and asked, "…Are you sure?"

America turned his head and kissed England's palm. "I've never been more sure. Ever." England shivered.

"I'm sure you want to tell my older self that." He said. America blinked at him and nodded.

"I want to tell you that no matter what century or decade. And I want to hear you say it back to me. Like this is perfect. All I want to do is to hold England and kiss him and fall asleep next to him and wake up next to him. Every day." America smiled somewhat sheepishly at the confession.

"You…You sound like you're proposing, America." England choked out.

"Hahaha, if only." There was a dark sadness in America's eyes that caused England to flinch. "But we can't marry. It doesn't matter anyway…he hates me…" America rolled over so that he lay next to England gazing at the ceiling. England sat up sharply and ignored a sharp stab of pain in his lower back.

"Hate? When did he say this?"

"He doesn't have to. It's so obvious." He covered his eyes with his arm, smiling bitterly. England hated that smile. "He always fights with me and all he can talk about is how he loves my younger self because I was so much better back then. I feel like I'm competing with myself. He criticizes everything I do. He says he hates me all of the time and now I'm starting to believe it." He looked at England, his eyes shining with tears despite the grin. "Isn't that just so sad?" He whispered.

England couldn't respond. His throat tightened. He hated the sight of America's tears. He wanted to deny everything. He didn't hate America. He was just bitter towards him. But he didn't know if he was able to say he truly loved him either. "I…I need a cup of tea." America watched him. "I'll be back in a tic." With that England pulled on his underwear (truly they were America's because Arthur had borrowed America's clothing still) and fled to the kitchen, closing the door. Arthur was sitting there silently and looked at England.

"You're not staying with him?"

"No, give me back my clothes." Arthur frowned deeply but did as he was told before he entered the bedroom. America was in the same position England had left him in but there were a few tears trailing from his eyes. Arthur immediately crawled into bed and hugged him.

"Don't cry, love." He said. America sat up and hugged him tightly, his hand sliding up his back. He paused at a spot.

"I was right." He whimpered.

"Right about what?" Arthur questioned, having no idea what had occurred between America and England. Whatever it was Arthur was furious about it.

The finger rubbed slightly against his back. "…Your scar is gone." America said instead.

"Scar? I never had a scar there." Arthur replied, confused. America chuckled sadly and leaned his head on Arthur's shoulder.

"Never mind, then."

* * *

**A/N: Let's just see who catches that…**

**REVIEW! :D**


	13. Chapter 13

England had left. The next day after Arthur and England had switched, England went home. Arthur had stood there as the man had packed up and left with only a "Goodbye" to the couple in the house. But America hadn't even seen England out. The nation had hidden himself in the bedroom claiming he was "mortified at having been caught almost getting a blowjob" on the couch when really Arthur knew it was because of whatever had happened in the bedroom.

Arthur stood in the doorway of America's bedroom staring at the man's back. America lay on his side facing away from the open bedroom door. Every now and again the pirate nation could see a shudder run through his form signifying that the man was quietly trying to hold back his emotions. The amount of sorrow in the room was suffocating. Arthur was angry. Frustration built up within him upon both America and England's parts. He was angry at them both.

He stormed into the bedroom and ripped the cover off of the younger nation and grabbed his arm, yanking him onto his back and leaned down to glare into his face. "Get up. Right now. Stop your sulking." He commanded to America's surprised face. "I'm tired of your moping. Get up and take me somewhere. I demand that you let me see this city."

America stared at him for a moment. His eyes were a bit red, unhindered by his spectacles that sat off to the table on the side. Arthur refused to let his motherly side come out and comfort that face he was so used to seeing from his younger brother. The smallest pain of loss emitted from his heart. The wound of America's loss was still raw, if healing. He pushed the feeling away. This America needed to be a man. Arthur would not let him snivel in bed over whatever rejection had occurred. "You want to see New York?" America finally asked.

"Yes. I had being in this place. I wish to be outside." The artificial lighting of the building threw off Arthur's internal clock. Outside at night there were so many lights that he wondered if it was really night time. But Arthur wanted to be a part of that crowd. He wanted to see what lay in America's modern 'heart'.

"…Alright…" America sat up with a sigh and threw his legs over the side of the bed. Arthur indulged for a moment and wiped the nation's eyes and face with his hand as America gazed at him. Arthur was already dressed in clothes that fit him (England seemed to have 'conveniently' left behind an outfit for Arthur. It felt nice to be back in clothing that fit him. America had to get dressed though so Arthur waited for the man by the door to the hallway. He was internally jittery. The daytime New York stirred up fearful and curious reactions within him. He knew he would be mystified by the nighttime as well. In his time period when night fell that signified that it was time for sleep. After all there were dangerous creatures out at night. But here the people didn't seem to sleep. There always seemed to be someone awake.

America joined Arthur with his hair slightly damp on the fringes from where he had washed his face. It was good that he tidied up a bit. America smiled at him. "I was wondering about when you would want to explore."

Arthur shrugged. "I didn't know if I was ready." He admitted, although it wasn't entirely true. He had been far too busy with trying to 'convince' England to admit his feelings to America. So much for that plan, even though it had partially worked.

"Well you'll like it! New York City's not called 'The City That Never Sleeps' for nothing!" America proclaimed, excited. He took Arthur's hand and led him down the hallway to the strange metal room that moved. Arthur still disliked it and clung to America fearful of the feeling of dropping, even if it was slow. He didn't understand how America could stand it. He was glad when they reached the bottom floor. The two of them walked together (Alfred paused to wave to a woman behind the desk) and exited the building. Neither of them moved to hold hands or even so much as stand too close to each other. They walked like normal friends did with neither really speaking. Arthur marveled at all of the lights around him, amazed. New York was so bright! It made him slightly nervous at the zooming lights that passed by but at the same time he was surprised by all of the lanterns everywhere.

There was a chill in the air that caused America to huddle in on his jacket, shivering a bit. Arthur was a bit nippy but wasn't all that bothered by it. He was used to the cold at this point. He raised an eyebrow at America. "What's the matter? I thought you loved the cold?"

"Fuck no!" America exclaimed, looking at him. "I hate the cold!"

"Since when? You loved playing in the snow when you were little."

"…" America at first didn't respond but finally said, "I began to hate the cold during my revolution." He admitted.

Arthur blinked at him, a bit stung by the comment. It was still a raw wound to him. He didn't want to think about it. He understood what America meant, though. He recalled America's ragtag group of people dressed far too lightly for the weather as they fought in the war. "It's your own fault. Your people didn't have the supplies necessary. If it weren't for funding and those bastards Spain and France, you would've never won."

"Hey, my militia was amazing!" America denied raising his eyebrows. "You're just jealous that you were beat by my 'ragtag group of people'!"

"Is that what you told my future self last night?" Arthur asked. America lost step for a moment before catching back up and looking ahead without looking at Arthur. Arthur gazed at him anyway.

"No, that's not it."

"When did you figure out we had switched?"

"You think I can't tell the difference between you?" America sighed deeply. A cloud formed from his mouth. Arthur thought the temperature was dropping. He moved a bit closer to his partner. "He has scars that you don't have." Oh, so that's what he had meant last night.

"And you could feel them?"

"Yeah. Plus he sometimes hesitated where you wouldn't."

"Yeah? Like where?"

"Like when I first kissed him." America looked at him finally. He had a sad smile on his face. "Thank you for that opportunity, Arthur. At least I had him once even though it ended badly." Arthur didn't respond and America led the two of them safely across the street to a forest of trees with gaps for roads in them. Arthur saw a sign that said "Central Park". The trees were adorned with tiny lights of ranging colours. He paused to gape at them.

"The trees are on fire!" He cried.

America laughed. "Pfft! No, man! They're lights! Like in the house! But they're smaller!" He led Arthur over to a tree. Arthur hesitantly touched one of the bulbs and blinked at the glass. After a moment he pulled his hand back as it began to burn a bit. "Artificial light, man. Great invention. Gotta love Uncle Ben." Arthur looked at America wondering if he was referring to Benjamin Franklin.

"What exactly happened between you and England?" He brought back their previous conversation, joining America as he sat down on a bench. America gazed up at the tree lights and reached his hand into the air, as if groping for them idly.

"I didn't admit that I knew he wasn't you." He stated first and began to twirl a finger, writing something in the air. Arthur recognized the English cursive but not what he was writing exactly. "But I pretty much confessed my love for him. He ran away." A painful look appeared in his eyes and he dropped his hand over his eyes, pushing Texas down a bit. "I knew it would happen." He whispered. "Whenever he's with me and doesn't want to hurt my feelings, he runs away. I don't think he realizes that that's so much worse. He's confirmed what I already knew. I've been rejected."

Arthur didn't say anything. He wasn't sure what to say. The deed was done. England had chosen and on top of that he had completely run from America. Like a coward. But Arthur knew he was the same way. He couldn't blame him. He only wished that England had been wiser. England had just doomed all three of their lives (two technically but no matter) to a miserable future.

"I'm a fool." He said and turned away from America to stare straight ahead. He saw some kind of flat figure lit up with lights that moved. He looked vaguely like Saint Nicholas, he recognized. Arthur partially blamed himself. Perhaps he had gone about the wrong way to convince himself to realize his love for America. Perhaps his feelings had only turned platonic in the future? Either way Arthur had failed them. "I'm sorry, America."

"It's okay." America dropped his hand completely and grabbed Arthur's hand in his to squeeze it. He smiled at him a somewhat hollow grin. "At least I've had you. I've gotten to experience what it was like to be with you –to love you. I hope when you go back you just remember that, okay?" Arthur stared at him and sadly clenched his hand back. He couldn't apologize any more.

"I don't know what causes me to forget this love, but don't give up on me. Please." He asked. America reached forward and stroked Arthur's cold cheek with his warmed hand. Arthur closed his eyes and America kissed him gently. He didn't say anything else, though.

* * *

Tony came back to New York City three days later, appearing in the apartment overnight. Arthur was startled by his sudden appearance and wondered how he had entered the apartment looking how he does. America appeared unfazed by it and greeted his strange friend without trouble.

"Hey, dude!" He did some strange hand moves with Tony that included bumping fists and strange finger-wiggling. "Welcome back! How was your home?"

"Fucking." Tony responded, confusing Arthur. What kind of language was that?

"That's cool, man. You gotta catch me up later!" Arthur stared at America. How the fuck did he understand him? "Anyway…I'm guessing the time machine's fixed?"

"Fixed it-bubu!" Tony nodded the confirmation.

"Okay. Will it send him to the right time? It's kind of important."

"It's _very_ important, America." Arthur corrected him and left to change into the clothing he had first arrived in this time period in. America meanwhile discussed the plans of sending Arthur back with him. Arthur gazed around the bedroom as he dressed. He was leaving. It was all going to be over. Too soon…it was all too soon…

Arthur exited and joined America to gently grab his shirt. America looked at him. Arthur gazed into his eyes a bit sadly before pulling him into a kiss. America responded in turn, wrapping his arms around Arthur's waist to kiss him back slowly. Their lips parted as their tongues met in a needy fashion. They both knew this would be the absolute last time they would kiss. England had ensured that.

By the time they pulled away Tony had the strange machine set up in the living room. It was a large box-shaped contraption that Arthur couldn't make the least bit of sense with. America examined it expertly, though, fixing some dials. Tony helped him out mumbling things that vaguely sounded like insults but it seemed that everything Tony said was an insult. He thought he heard his name, though.

America finished his settings and turned to Arthur with a sigh and a smile. "Are you ready? We'll send you right back to where we left on your ship."

"Will it actually work?" He raised an eyebrow dubiously.

America laughed. "Yeah totally!"

"Hopefully, limey." Tony corrected. Arthur was startled he had spoken real English. And also disturbed.

"Well don't worry about it! It'll work!" America assured him. Arthur didn't feel confidently. America's smile turned sad. "I'm going to miss you, England." Arthur knew what America was really saying. He was going to miss this England. He was going to miss the England that loved him the way America wished to be loved.

Arthur smiled back and nodded. "I will as well, America." The younger nation moved Arthur into the correct place and moved to press the button when Arthur called, "But," America hesitated and looked at him. Arthur smirked. "Don't think I'll forget how you feel in bed. This future will be changed." He promised. He refused to be the England of this future. He will love America how he wanted to be loved.

America laughed and grinned. "Alright! It's a promise!" He grabbed Arthur's hand and shook it. Arthur kissed the back of America's hand on the knuckles before releasing him. The last thing he saw was America pressing the button before his stomach jerked and he was gone.

* * *

America awoke silently on his bed and gazed at the ceiling for a few bleary minutes. Where was he? Oh right. D.C. He was in his capitol. But he didn't recall falling asleep. In fact, he thought he had been in New York City. Could've _sworn_ it, in fact. But he wasn't. His room in the White House was completely different than the one in New York. He brushed off the odd feeling that he had skipped a portion of his life and climbed out of bed glancing at the clock. He had to get ready for the U.N. meeting.

He walked over to his bathroom and started up the shower, stripping off his clothing before stepping into the spray. He closed his eyes and lowered his head to soak his hair. Faint visions of England under some Christmas lights blinked in his vision. It made his heart heavy for whatever reason. England looked beautiful in the lighting. He wondered where the vision came from. A faint recollection of a dream he had, perhaps? He couldn't recall. He finished bathing and stepped out to dry off and go get dressed. He scrubbed his hair with his towel before wrapping the towel around his waist before exiting to grab some underwear and his suit from the closet. Silently he dressed in all but his overcoat before going back into the bathroom to blow-dry his hair and brush his teeth and hair.

Finished getting ready, he went on to continue his morning routine, going down towards the kitchen. He stopped to say hi to Barack quickly with a grin –he still felt very torn about how he felt about being reelected*- before scampering off. In the kitchen he grabbed some of the prepared coffee to begin mixing in his necessary flavours to make it taste better with cream and sugar. He vaguely had the image of England in the kitchen studying the coffee machine as if he had no idea what it was. America chuckled. England was so cute clueless.

He prepared himself some homemade breakfast not wanting to bother any of the cooks and humming happily to himself. He would need to fill up a lot. Lunch always took forever to get to during world meetings. He couldn't wait to see everyone again. He had been so caught up in domestic affairs recently he hadn't visited any of the other countries. He wanted to catch up with Japan and Prussia (if the elder nation was there). France would be fun to go drinking with after the meeting. Maybe they could get Germany to come along. The man was a hoot when drunk.

He finished making his breakfast and sat down to eat it all, his mind drifting to a strange nostalgia. For whatever reason he thought back to his colonial days. Vaguely he recalled England with another man. What was his name? Alfred. That's right. He recalled how he was always with his previous caretaker. America had very faint memory of what he looked or sounded like, however. He recalled he played tag with him a lot, though. He also remembered how England had been in love with the man. It made America frown at the remembrance of England's happy face when the two snuck a kiss when they thought America wasn't looking. America had chosen his human name as Alfred in hopes that it would be a good luck charm. A charm that would get England to forgive and also love him in the same way he loved the human Alfred.

America cleaned his dishes and downed his coffee before looking at his watch. He'd better leave. So he did, taking a limo to the U.N. meeting. Hey, if it was available then why not use it? Besides, he hated traffic so he would let someone else drive for now. He instead relaxed in the back flipping through some notes he'd rather not go over. They arrived soon enough for America to make it to the meeting at a decent time and he entered the building with a couple other nations. He happily made small talk with them, glad to see some of his old companions again. He looked around as he walked for England wondering where the man was as he entered the meeting room. He didn't see him arrive yet. He wondered when the nation's flight had come in and if the man would oversleep.

As it turned out England didn't oversleep. And neither did the other nations unless you counted Greece and Italy. But that was expected of them. One by one the nations who needed or wanted to talk made their voices known. America quickly became bored but kept general tabs as he drew in a small notepad he kept with him. He worked on making a flipbook in the meantime. He was halfway done with it by the time the break was called for lunch. He started as his name was called, having been so concentrated on the flipbook drawings of a stick-figure running and throwing baskets.

He looked up to see Japan. "Were you paying attention to the meeting, America-san? You will be presenting in a while." America rolled his eyes and climbed to his feet to join his friend.

"Yeah, I was. I was just busy at the same time."

"I see." Japan smiled at him a bit, but America could tell he was disapproving some. It couldn't be helped. Japan was older than him, after all. Of course he was more responsible. America just didn't really care all that much. The two went out to McDonald's nearby to grab America's meal before walking back to the meeting building to go eat in the cafeteria. Japan brought his own homemade bento that America snuck bites from. Japan in return occasionally took a fry or two when he felt like it. America didn't mind at all. He liked Japan's homemade food and Japan seemed to kind of like McDonald's once in a while. It was a fair trade.

Japan dismissed himself first from their shared meal to go to the bathroom. America said goodbye before he stood to join some of the other nations to chat and catch up on recent events and scandals. He laughed with Italy about how they were still searching for The Atmosphere (most of the other nations shook their heads at the joke) and he made plans with France and a few others to go out drinking. Austria even decided to go along, surprisingly. America decided they should all go back to their places first and then head out to a club. He knew of a really good one not too far. The others agreed. America couldn't wait.

The younger nation left the group with a wave and left the cafeteria to go search for a specific Brit. He hadn't seen him around yet and he wanted to ask him to hang out afterwards at the club. He spotted the forever-alone nation walking the halls heading back for the meeting room and called out to him. "Hey, England!"

England paused and glanced over his shoulder as he saw America approaching him. "What is it?" He asked.

"So hey, me and France and some others were going to go to a club after the meeting and everything! Wanna come?" He asked, walking next to him now.

England scowled a bit. "With _France_? Bloody hell, no. Last time he practically tried to have sex with me on the dance floor." America bit back a jealous frown.

"Seriously? When did you go dancing? Why wasn't I invited?"

"Because you weren't in Europe." He stated simply. "So no. I'm not going."

"Aw, come on Artie! Don't be like that! France won't do it again…" He trailed off seeing England gazing at him with wide eyes. "What?" He asked, confused. He looked behind himself to check and see if there was something surprising there before turning back to England with a frown. "What?" He asked again.

"You…What did you call me?" He asked slowly.

"Um, Artie?"

"Why did you call me that?"

"Dude, I always call you Artie?" Alfred said, bewildered by England's shocked reaction.

"No. You've never called me that."

"Yeah, I have!" Alfred had distinctive memories of doing so. Although some of those memories seemed rather dubious.

"…" England stared America down for a long time. America began to feel uncomfortable under his scrutiny before England's eyes widened again. "Bloody hell, you're him…" He breathed.

"'Him'?" America asked but England didn't respond and instead pulled America into a kiss. This time it was the younger nation's time to widen. What the hell was this? Why was England kissing him? What happened here? How…Why…What…Fuck it. America closed and kissed England back happily, wrapping his arms around his neck. England's fists released America's tie and instead dropped to his hips, pulling away from a moment before stepping closer to kiss him again.

America didn't really know what was going on but he didn't care. England –his long time love- was kissing him. And he had been the one to initiate it. And on top of that he didn't smell like alcohol! No doubt this was a conscious choice. Their lips moved in shockingly perfect synchronization. America felt like he had kissed England already countless times. These lips and this mouth were familiar to him. The feeling of the British nation's body pressed to his was familiar (and arousing). This scent invading his nose caused America to shiver with nostalgia on many levels, some of which he didn't know of.

England finally broke their kiss and gazed at America with loving eyes which caused America's heart to stutter. "Alfred, my darling." He pressed a kiss to America's forehead. "I've waited for you for so long."

"I don't understand." America said, confused but happy to be being loved by England. He still wanted to know why all of the sudden, however.

England chuckled. "I've been waiting for you ever since you sent me back onto my ship, America. Over the years I forgot what date it was we arrived but I've been waiting for the time after our 'adventure' together for you so that I can fulfill my promise. I've been waiting and now finally it's over."

America shook his head. "Sent you to your ship? Waiting? Promise? What are you talking about?"

England frowned. "Our…Our promise, America. That I would hold onto my love for you even in the future? Remember? We must've made it not too long ago your time. Come now, surely you must remember." America must've still had a blank look. England became slightly frustrated. "Tony's time machine? You going back in time? Me coming forward in time? Is none of this ringing a bell?"

To America it hazily felt familiar but he couldn't remember why. He shook his head. "I have no idea what you're talking about. What time machine? Tony's? Dude, how'd you know about that? I haven't touched that thing because Tony said it was faulty."

England stared at him and released his hold on the American. "You…don't remember? None of it? _None_? Bloody hell…" England pulled away from America and turned away, holding his head in thought. America wanted to know exactly what it was England was referring to.

"Hey, hey, um, so why'd you kiss me?" He asked, wanting that to be cleared up.

"Because I love you, America. We've been through this." England brushed him off, his eyebrows still scrunched in thought as if he hadn't just blown America's whole perception on their relationship out of the water.

"REALLY?!" He cried, shocked and causing England to jump and scowl.

"_Yes._" England hissed, looking annoyed. "I always have."

"How come you never told me?!" America asked.

"Because you weren't right yet!"

"Huh?"

"Look, just belt up for a good five minutes, please? I'm trying to think." England commanded. America listened and quieted anxiously. There were so many things he wanted to discuss but he would wait. England paced a little as he thought, trying to connect dots that a majority of which America figured he was missing. Finally England stopped dead as the epiphany came and he slapped his forehead. "Oh hell, of _course_! How could I not figure that out sooner?"

"What?" America asked, tilting his head.

"I shouldn't be mad at America. It's not his fault." England spoke to himself. "It's time, of course. Of course, of course…" he muttered before turning to America and kissing the nation's lips once with a soft smile. "America, I believe I'll take you up on that offer to go to a club tonight. And afterwards I'll tell you a story you'll be most interested in hearing…"

* * *

**A/N: I don't know if that seems like an abrupt ending or something (it's freaking 1 in the morning, bloody hell) but I quite like it. I wrote America's part really slow and overly detailed to show monotony and the typical life, just so you know.**

**Alright, for those of you who can't quite figure out what happened, get out a piece of paper to draw this visibly.  
Alfred (the original America that's been in a majority of this story) goes back in time to meet Arthur (younger England). Alfred changes Arthur so that Arthur loves him and seems okay with the Revolution (for the most part.  
Alfred and Arthur go into the future where Alfred's England is at. Arthur does NOT change England's feelings into a lover's instead of vaguely platonic. Arthur gets sent back.  
Now then, ARTHUR ages into the future England (who no longer exists because Arthur is now that England and his feelings are the same). AMERICA (from the past) also ages to become Alfred. Only this Alfred recalls an Alfred from the past but he ISN'T the Alfred from the past. He never goes back in time. So in a sense this is a different America with the same feelings as the first just not the same experience.**

**Basically because Arthur goes back to his time loving America in a lover's way, he grew up on a different timeline so the future is different. **

"**Time is not linear. Instead from a non-linear, non-subjective point of view it is more like a big ball of wibbly-wobbly timey-wimey…stuff." –The Doctor**

**So yeah. I hope that's a decent ending for you all! Leave a review please on your way out! Night~!**

**Love, Tsuki**


	14. Bonus Epilogue

**A/N: Well the poll has been up forever by this point in time and it's pretty obvious you all want an explanation for what happened to "Alfred" America after Past!England left. Though I have to say this will probably not be very satisfying which is why I wanted to leave it out but I'm a woman of my word. Also, this may be short. OTL So here we go.**

****NOTE** For those who do not know, this is not a continuation of the last chapter of "Pirate Ages". This is the original timeline that occurred that is completely separate from the one Pirate England went on to live (oh god, I'm confusing myself now). Bloody hell, just read the chapter and hopefully you'll grasp it. XD; OTL**

* * *

It had been a while since the younger England had gone home and America found himself back in his capital gazing at paperwork and sighing for the third time in the past fifteen minutes. It was obvious by his attitude that he was disheartened, but really who wouldn't be after all that had happened? He had gained and lost his love (and had been rejected) all in about a week. The first few months in the past and on that ship with the pirates didn't count of course.

His head lulled back and he sat back in his chair, leaning back on the back two legs to gaze out through the sunroof that he had placed in his office where he worked. He liked to see the stars on the days he stayed late, after all. The window was somewhat frosted over with ice and the edges of snow could be seen on the roof through the window. As he watched more snow fell. A frown found its way to his face and he was glad to have his vintage (haha, what a joke considering he'd had it when it was brand new –made especially for him) World War II bomber jacket with him. He wondered what he should do about dinner considering he didn't want to have to go out in this mess. He would need to cook at home. Maybe he'll roast marshmallows in his fireplace.

His eyes closed his eyes and the immediate image of Arthur filled his mind underneath the Christmas lights. His green eyes were glowing with hopeless pity and anger at his older self as he had looked at America. He had been gorgeous despite the bitterness of the situation. America had wished that they had parted on better terms. He wondered what had happened to England now that Arthur was back in the past. There were a number of possibilities that America had considered from various sci-fi movies that he had watched over the decades and stories he had read. Perhaps the England from this time had been altered because the past England was gone and the shockwaves of his return had altered this future. But then where was England and why hadn't he visited him at all? After all, Arthur promised to remember him and had asked him not to lose hope. No, America doubt that such a future had occurred. Then there was the possibility that because America had altered the timeline, a completely new timeline had occurred and that was where the younger England had grown into. Maybe somewhere, in some time, another America was receiving all of Arthur's love. The thought made America's heart burn with envy and he quickly opened his eyes in order to drop such a thought from his mind.

His eyes jumped to the phone sitting on his desk and he willed England for him to call him. He wanted to hear his voice again. He could still remember the sensations of holding England in his arms as they'd had sex for the first time (not that England knew that America knew). Both Englands had thought that they could fool America by switching places but America could always tell who his lovers were. Even if they were identical twins he would never mistake them. _…I want to talk to him._ America's head thumped against his desk a little too painfully and a few of his papers floated off and onto the ground. He had grown used to England's presence all over again just like when he was younger. He would become used to England's heat and his voice and his cooking (thank god he had grown accustomed to that for the most part) and his smiles and their bickering to the point that when England left America felt like a large part of his life was suddenly gone. Only in this case America doubted England would be returning anytime soon bearing gifts for him in apology for being gone for so long. America doubted that he would ever see England again unless it was for work.

_I don't want that._ He selfishly thought and his fingers curled into fists. He wanted England back to talk to and harass, even if it meant that they would just be friends. He had lasted this many years hiding his love, so why couldn't he now? But it wasn't that simple. England had run from him. America had let him slip from his grip. Hell, he hadn't even tried to stop him. England didn't love him in that way. He had been completely and utterly rejected. He'd had his one chance; it would be selfish to ask for more. But then again, America had always been a selfish country.

* * *

Christmas had America walking with many other Yankees around the streets of New York City. The glamorous city was sparkling and dazzling with all of its lights and decorations and various music playing. He himself had just come from a play he had seen many times over the years but could never seem to bring his self not to see whenever it was in town. He had seen many different actors and actresses playing the parts. Still the storyline didn't bore him no matter who died at what scene and what magical musical number was sung.

The flow of the crowd swept the lax America down effortlessly towards the large tree in the middle of the city. In the distance he could spot the Statue of Liberty glowing and felt a grin on his face. He loved Christmas time. He could withstand the cold of winter if it meant he could see these sights and watch the happy people around him merrily meet and merrily part with many other strangers. He watched as a family of three passed by him –a mother, father, and their young son- giggling about something unknown to the nation. His eyes softened and a slight sting of his heart had him turning away before he became saddened. His people were beautiful but he couldn't have what he wished for. He thought about visiting Molassia later and getting drunk.

He found himself leaving the crowd and traveling the backstreets towards where he had parked his car in order to take a flight across the country. To his slight surprise he found two drunks stumbling along together giggling and talking loudly in foreign accents that America couldn't make out from how far he was. America shook his head with a chuckle as he spotted that the people were generally unclothed. They would probably be arrested or get hypothermia or both.

"Hey!" He called out to them deciding to do his Christmas good and give them a heads up about how they were acting. The drunks turned to him and America stopped dead as he recognized two very familiar blondes that had him almost groaning at their stupidity.

"America!" France called cheerfully, naked sans a rose over his important parts and cat ears and a tail. "America, how great to see you here!" The man slurred and skipped towards him with surprising speed to wrap an arm around the taller nation's shoulders.

"You're in my country, bro. New York City, nonetheless." America laughed.

"Is that where we are?" England slurred as he looked around him with –no doubt- blurry eyes as he stumbled his way over to America and France. He was dressed in that absurd waiter's outfit that looked great on him but that America had seen on him far too many times to have any kind of effect on the younger nation. After all, America had seen England dressed in a (sexy, short, pink, tight) nurse's outfit.

"Yeah." America hadn't expected his next encounter with the British nation to be like this. At least the awkwardness (at least from England's part) was missing and America could just bat away his own nervousness effortlessly.

"Join us! Christmas is only starting after all!" France called and his cold hands slipped under America's jacket and shirt to try to push them up. America stiffened at the cold hands but otherwise didn't really care about the groping and just grabbed France's arms.

"No, man. I did that last year and got sick for, like, a week. I'm not up for it tonight." Streaking last year had been fun and all, but he didn't plan on doing it again this year. He pulled France's hands out right as England whacked the French nation upside the head angrily. France cried out and turned to him cursing at him in his native language that America caught bits and pieces of considering the words were slurred and jumbled.

"Dun' touch my 'murica like that!" England bumbled and tilted forward to wrap his arms around America's neck and give him a sloppy and possessive kiss on the lips. America immediately pulled away and wiped his mouth of the slobbery and alcoholic kiss, making a face at it. England ignored him and glared at France. "He's already mine, see? Nobody but me touches him!"

"Ah, ah, always so possessive!" France sighed and shook his head good-naturedly. America pushed away from England with a frown on his face not liking that he was being claimed in such a misunderstanding way.

"Hey, don't just kiss me old man. I ain't yours."

"Eh?" England raised a large eyebrow at him. "I had assumed so considering all of that shit." He waved aimlessly in a random direction but America knew what he was referring to.

"You're an idiot." America said and turned away from the old men. "I'm not bailing you out when you two get arrested for indecent exposure." He stuffed his hands into his jacket's pockets walked off quickly before he had to deal with them anymore. He had already accepted his rejection of England and the nation was quite obviously not in a right state of mind (_Is he ever?_ America thought humorously) so he really did not need to cause any more misunderstandings between them. No doubt England would blame him for "seducing him" or some bullshit when he sobered up. He really didn't need that.

* * *

New Year's Evening had America sitting on the balcony of his New York apartment staring out over Time's Square waiting for the ball to drop. The whole reason why he had bought such an expensive apartment (many of his houses across the states didn't cost this much or were as nice) was specifically so he could have this view. He was wrapped up nicely in a blanket over top of his jacket and drinking a cup of hot cocoa with some vodka in it. It tasted quite good, especially with some cinnamon in it. He could barely taste the alcohol but he knew how much was in it. He was on his third but he wasn't drunk yet. His mind was very barely swimming.

It was ten minutes until midnight and he was looking forward to spending the coming of the next year alone. _What bullshit._ America thought and finished off his cup and sighed a heated air cloud into the cold air. Of course he wasn't happy in the least to be alone. He should've gone to a party and hooked up with someone. At least he wouldn't be alone for the New Year. But he had decided to stay home like an idiot and drink himself into tomorrow. He got up and walked inside to quickly prepare his fourth cup of alcohol in the kitchen. As the microwave heated his drink he pulled out a popper and threw it at the ground to entertain his self with the popping of it when he heard his front door open. Shocked, he turned around to see England peeking in timidly, like a child caught stealing a cookie in the night.

"…England?" America asked as the English nation tried to close the door and pretend that he had never opened it. The man stopped and considered his self for a moment before he opened the door all of the way and reluctantly came in, sheepish. "What are you doing here? And how'd you get in?" He had been sure he had locked his door.

England kept his eyes adverted but held up a key. "I saw where you hide the spare." America would have to hide it somewhere else. Fuck.

"That doesn't explain why you're here." America could feel his body was stiff with his own anxiety over meeting England.

England cleared his throat and reluctantly pulled out a bag containing a gift. "You left on Christmas before I could give it to you." He explained.

"What?" America walked over and took the gift, flabbergasted. "Where the hell were you keeping this that night?"

England looked put off and glared at him. "I didn't have to get you a Christmas gift, you ungrateful git! It was just a…just a thank you gift for letting me stay here for a week!" America didn't believe him. Of course he was lying.

"Why didn't you come earlier to drop this off, then? It's already the thirty-first."

"Because I have better things to do!" England seemed unreasonably ruffled, America thought. After all, he had barely done anything to aggravate him at the moment. From the sound of the cheering from outside, the ball was about to drop soon.

"Okay, then you can go." America missed England's hurt look as he turned around to go put the present down in order to go outside for the countdown. England's hand shot out and grabbed his arm, halting him.

"Do you…hate me that much for what I did?" He asked in a quiet voice.

America was about to say no –after all, he still didn't hate him and never did- but instead bitter words escaped his lips surprising even him, "I should be the one asking you that since you ran away from me. But considering you pretty much already confirmed that, I guess you don't have to."

"America-"

America turned to him with a wounded face. England stared at him. "Can't we just stop this…weirdness? We both already know how we feel towards each other. Is there any way we can meet in the middle and be friends or something?" He didn't want to have to lose England. "It can be a resolution or something." He joked painfully smiling. England's arms wrapped around his neck and America found himself with an armful of England and a mouthful of British tongue in a desperate kiss. America grunted in surprise and pushed him away quickly. "Stop doing that! Why do you keep-"

"I don't know." England cut him off, already moving closer to him again. "Whenever I see you I just want to kiss you now. Dammit, I don't know what you did to me. I don't remember a past where this current you was so that past cannot be mine…and yet dammit I still want to kiss you despite you being part of my family!" America kept his mouth closed seeing as the British man was so frustrated. It looked like it had been bothering him for a while. He didn't bother to correct him for the time being. England ran a frustrated hand over a tired-looking face. Outside America could hear the countdown and so he turned and walked out onto the porch as the ball began to drop. A few seconds in England followed him and looked at him silently as America helped count down.

"If you came here for a fuck," America stopped counting in the middle of saying "twenty", "then don't bother. I'm going to try to get over you and move on. There's no point in lingering." _No matter what Arthur said._ America added mentally. This would be his resolution for the year.

"Don't." England said and as the ball reached the bottom at "one" America captured England's lips in a soft kiss. Cold hands found America's cheeks as the kiss deepened more sensually. It lasted only a few seconds and the excited cheering of the Americans were still ringing out along with much more clamor as the nations pulled away from each other. "I don't hate you, but neither do I know if I love you." England admitted. "But I'm willing to try new things and so…" He didn't finish. America didn't need him to and just laughed at him and took his hand.

"You're never getting away now." He promised.

"Yeah, I had assumed so idiot."

* * *

**A/N: Okay, this is THE last chapter of this story. I hope this satisfied you guys enough. I left it open-ended enough so that if you want to imagine that they actually decided not to get together then you can considering I lost that a bit. Oh well. XD;**


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